


Intermediate Physicality

by shaenie



Series: Adapting to Physicality [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Bruce/Team, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, Gags, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Safewords, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1390135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaenie/pseuds/shaenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a fairly strong possibility that Tony is merely giving him some space to settle himself after what was definitely an extremely rough physical and emotional experience. Bruce doesn’t especially need to settle, but he can see how Tony might want to give him some space to do so anyway. In many respects, Tony knows him better than anyone else in the world, but as far as this specific type of relationship goes, they are nearly strangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intermediate Physicality

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Thanks to wolfshark for the SPAG and hand holding. It had mostly a cursory beta, because I don’t do so great at waiting, so all stupidity is entirely my own fault. Chose to do this as a sequel because I’m certain I have one more story in the verse in me, and felt like it required more than just an added chapter to the original. Also because there was sort of a built in title.

Bruce pauses, twisted a little over the lab table. It’s not because he hurts, exactly, though he does. More because the position pulls at his whole body unexpectedly, and he’s momentarily ultra-aware of all the places that ache and burn and throb. It tightens his breath in his chest and sends slivers of memory through him, feverish enough to make his blood race. It’s been happening periodically all morning, and Bruce has never been so grateful that he has his own private lab space. No one wants to fight off a hard on in front of their interns or their peers.

He straightens slowly, quietly relishing the way his body feels. It will only last until his next transformation, or, barring that, maybe two days. He isn’t superhuman, like Steve, but he does heal about twice as quickly as the average guy does, and he’s a little harder to really hurt than average, as well. He is honestly fairly impressed at how deeply Tony had managed to mark him.

He turns a speculative eye on the biochemical transmitters on the bench, and then glances at the clock.

It’s a quarter to noon, and Tony hasn’t shown up once this morning to do any of the usual things, like harass him, rant about people being stupid, suggest wildly unlikely experiments, or just sit with his feet up on Bruce’s desk and watch whatever Bruce is doing.

On the average day, Tony would have been in Bruce’s space at least three times by now. (Or, at least, on an average day that Tony isn’t completely engrossed in whatever he’s doing in his workshop, which can last a week or more.)

Bruce isn’t sure how to feel.

There’s a fairly strong possibility that Tony is merely giving him some space to settle himself after what was definitely an extremely rough physical and emotional experience. Bruce doesn’t especially need to settle, but he can see how Tony might want to give him some space to do so anyway. In many respects, Tony knows him better than anyone else in the world, but as far as this specific type of relationship goes, they are nearly strangers.

It’s equally possible that Tony is out of the Tower on Stark Industries business. The company doesn’t eat up all of Tony’s time, but it does require his presence sometimes, and there’s no reason to expect that Tony would tell Bruce. He never has before, unless he’s leaving directly from Bruce’s lab.

It’s just as possible that Tony is still in bed. They’d had a late night, and Tony isn’t an especially early riser. Bruce would have slept more himself if his paranoia-related internal alarm clock hadn’t roused him.

There are probably a dozen more things that are just as likely, if Bruce put some effort into making a complete list.

It shouldn’t worry him that Tony hasn’t come by, and it doesn’t, exactly. He’s not worried. He’s just got an odd feeling that he’s left something undone, and that whatever it is, that’s the real reason Tony hasn’t dropped in.

He glances at the clock again: 11:55.

He’ll see if he can find Tony for lunch, he decides, and puts things in order on his worktable.

It turns out that he doesn’t need to find Tony at all. Bruce has just managed to put everything to rights when Tony saunters into the lab. Bruce glances at the clock automatically. It’s twelve o’clock on the dot. Tony gives him a smile and an arched brow, and says, “Plans for lunch?”

Bruce wills himself not to blush. “I was going to look for you, actually.”

Tony’s smile widens into a grin. “Perfect. My place or yours?”

Bruce considers the question for a moment -- he’s not sure what level they’re interacting on right now, and not being sure makes him nervous -- but eventually says, “Do you even have any food in the penthouse, Tony?” It’s an honest question.

Tony’s grin crooks into a smirk. “I do as of about half an hour ago.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I figured if I was going to have frequent company that didn’t involve things like beer and popcorn, I should make sure I could feed that company.”

Bruce smiles a little at the idea of Tony grocery shopping. “Did you order it to be delivered, or send someone out?”

“I’m hurt, Bruce,” Tony says with an entirely fake pout. “I’m an adult, you know. I could go grocery shopping.”

Bruce huffs out a laugh. “You’d be mobbed by the press before you could get anywhere near the doors of a supermarket.”

Tony looks like he’s considering that for a moment, and then shudders. “Okay, so that’s true. I had it delivered. But I placed the order all by myself; I didn’t have a minion do it. That should count for something.”

“I appreciate the effort,” Bruce says solemnly, and the weird thing is, he really does. Bruce knows Tony just as well as Tony knows him; Tony actually picking out groceries, even if he’d done it online, means that Tony put some effort into it. Tony’s intellect is so hot-running that tasks like groceries are so tedious as to be impossible. If left to his own devices, Tony would live on coffee and pizza or chinese delivery.

Tony quirks a smile at him. “The question remains: Your place or mine?”

“Whichever you’d prefer, Tony,” Bruce says, without a thought to how it will sound until it’s already out of his mouth.

Tony’s little twist of a smile fades and he watches Bruce for several long seconds, gaze serious. “I’m asking you where you’ll feel more comfortable, Bruce,” he says finally.

Bruce feels chastened, although he’s pretty sure Tony hadn’t intended for him to. But he answers honestly. “I’d feel more comfortable at my place, but I want you to be able to show off your grocery shopping skills if you want to.”

Tony grins a little. “I can show off my grocery shopping skills another day,” he says firmly. “Let’s see if there is anything but roughage in your kitchen.”

“Okay,” Bruce agrees, relaxing again.

They take the elevator to Bruce’s floor, and Tony absently waves for Bruce to precede him. Bruce isn’t sure if that’s a deliberate dominant behavior, an unconscious dominant behavior, or merely a Tony behavior. He’s a little amused at his own expense by the way he itches to find out.

Tony sort of… slams his way into Bruce’s kitchen, investigating cupboards and banging closed doors, shuffling through the freezer first, and then bending to disappear half into the fridge. He comes out after a few seconds with a package of chicken breasts. “What can you make with this?”

Bruce isn’t sure Tony is serious, but rattles off a list of things he can make anyway.

“It sounds like I could eat any of that,” Tony says, passing the chicken to Bruce. “Have at it.”

Bruce makes a savory chicken with couscous and fresh herbs, and tries not to be self conscious that Tony doesn’t speak at all while he’s cooking. Bruce says things like, “Do you like marjoram?” and “Should I salt this, or would you like to salt it to taste?” and Tony responds with reasonable answers, but he doesn’t actually talk the way he normally talks, which is all the time, about everything, sometimes at great length and volume.

Bruce fills two plates and turns to Tony and says, “You’re making me nervous.”

Tony nods a little, as though he’s not surprised. “I’m thinking. And can you dice that chicken into smaller bites?”

Bruce does so without comment, though he suspects that he understands why, and feels both slightly anxious and slightly anticipatory at the same time. Tony moves away from the kitchen island and toward the table, and Bruce can hear him pulling out chairs at the table.

“Do you want coffee?” he asks, putting the kettle on the stove.

“Yeah, thanks,” Tony says from where he’s wandered into the living room.

Bruce makes Tony a cup of coffee in the Keurig he barely uses, and fills his tea ball and puts it into his mug. When he glances up, Tony is relocating a cushion from the couch to the floor at the corner of the table, and just seeing it is enough to make Bruce breathe out with relief. It’s one thing to suspect, another to be sure. Given his choice, Bruce will always choose to be sure.

Bruce puts the plates side by side on the table, and then goes back for Tony’s coffee and Bruce’s tea, though it’s not quite done steeping.

He settles himself on the cushion without asking. Tony sits down, and gives Bruce an appraising look. “I’d like to do this every day,” Tony says.

“For every meal?” Bruce asks, not sure how he feels about that.

“No, just for lunch, and when disaster isn’t looming or science isn’t too pressing,” Tony says, smiling again.

Bruce nods. 

Tony looks at him again with dark, serious eyes, and says, “I’m asking, not telling.”

Bruce blinks, a little surprised, and says, “Oh.” And then. “I’m happy to do this every day,” which is true. If it’s only one meal, and it means he gets to feel the way this makes him feel every day, then he has no problem with it.

“Do you want to feed yourself, or would you rather I feed you?” Tony asks.

Bruce hesitates. He wasn’t expecting to have to verbally tell Tony that if Tony doesn’t feed him, then there’s no point to this. It’s unexpectedly hard to say. He can feel his face heating. “I’d rather you feed me,” he says, his voice only a little unsteady.

Tony catches his chin before Bruce even realizes he’s turning his face away, embarrassed. “Hey,” Tony says softly, and brushes his thumb along Bruce’s lower lip. “I’d rather I feed you, too.”

Bruce’s lower lip tingles at Tony’s touch; Bruce is aware of careful press of the tips of each of Tony’s fingers along his jaw. Heat settles into his belly, and he finds himself stretching a little just to feel the ache of his bruises and the sting of his welts.

Tony, watching him, says, “Where are you, Bruce?”

“Three point six, Tony,” Bruce murmurs, and Tony nods.

He picks up one of the plates and balances it on his knee. “This smells great,” he says, and takes a bite, smiling. Then he scoops up another bite and offers it to Bruce; Bruce leans in, and Tony keeps the plate under Bruce’s chin in case things get messy. By the time the plate is half-empty, they’ve established a rhythm, and Bruce can feel himself sinking out of the top of his mind, floating somewhere just beneath the surface. Tony puts the plate on the table and tosses back half his cup of coffee. Then he carefully takes the tea ball out of Bruce’s cup and puts in into a shallow dish Bruce keeps on the table for that exact reason. “I didn’t see you put honey in it,” Tony says. “I know you do sometimes.”

Bruce smiles; he can’t help it. Tony knowing, and _noticing_ , just makes him warmly happy. “I like it with or without,” he says. And then, feeling compelled, he adds, “I would prefer it with, today.”

Tony’s smile is wide and pleased. He stands, taking the tea with him. Bruce can’t see him over the kitchen island, but Tony comes back just a few moments later and settles back into his seat. “Careful; it’s still steaming,” he tells Bruce, and tips the cup against Bruce’s lips. Bruce takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised to find it only slightly sweeter than he would have made it himself. It’s hot, but not hot enough to burn his tongue, and it isn’t really possible that his favorite tea tastes better when Tony is holding the cup, but it’s somehow true anyway.

The rest of the meal continues like that, slow and almost ritualistic. Tony switches plates when the first is empty and continues to alternate bites. Bruce’s mind relaxes until he’s thinking about nothing but the motions of what is going on and the shapes of Tony’s hands, and the curve of his mouth, and the weight of his gaze.

He only realizes that they’re finished when Tony sets aside the plate and asks, “Where are you, Bruce?”

“Two,” Bruce says, letting the answer form in him mind and spill from his mouth without thought. “Two, Tony.”

“Good,” Tony says, and leans forward a little, spreading his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. Bruce still has to look up to see his face, but not far up, and he appreciates the closeness, appreciates the scent of Tony’s skin and his cologne. “I want you to try to stay at two, Bruce. I want to ask you a question, but I want you to stay at two.”

It seems a simple enough thing to ask. “Yes, Tony,” he agrees.

“Good. First, though, I’m not angry, do you understand?” Tony slides a hand into Bruce’s hair and tugs gently. Bruce feels distantly alarmed, and Tony does it again, which somehow works for Bruce, somehow helps him to let go of the idea that he’s done something wrong. Tony’s not angry. Bruce understands that there is something, but that Tony doesn’t want Bruce to lose his subspace over it, and Bruce trusts Tony, if he says that he isn’t angry.

“I understand,” Bruce says. “What did I do to displease you, Tony?”

Tony’s fingers card through his hair gently. “You didn’t displease me. I had expectations of you that you had no way of knowing about. Things happened very quickly between us. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What would you have liked me to do?” Bruce asks, a little desperate to know; he is still down, but he is a little anxious. There is a wire twisted into his chest, or a tangle of wires, maybe, and those wires twist around Tony’s need; Bruce can only untangle those wires if he is meeting Tony’s needs.

“I would have liked not to have woken up alone,” Tony says gently. “I would have liked to have had you there so that I didn’t have to wonder if you had decided that you didn’t want to be there, or that something I had done had made you leave. I would have like to spent an hour or so rubbing oil on your back and kissing you and talking about what expectations we have for one another.” Bruce can suddenly feel his heart knocking against the inside of his chest, but Tony fists his hair and tugs sharply, and then bends to kiss Bruce, hot and wet, but still gentle. “I’m not angry,” Tony repeats, his lips sliding along Bruce’s as he speaks. “I want you to stay down, Bruce. I’m not angry. But I want to talk about why you weren’t there when I woke up.”

Bruce’s intake of breath is a little shaky, but he can at least be totally honest. “Tony, I didn’t even think. I wake up at the same time every day and I get up, and it’s a routine from when I… when I was never safe. I got up and I didn’t want to wake you up before you were ready to be up, so I just, I had breakfast and went to the lab. I didn’t think about it at all. I… I should have, and I don’t want to make excuses, but I haven’t done this in a long time, and I’ve never done it… like this, like…” He doesn’t know what to call it, his brain stuttering for a moment, and then finally decides, “It’s never been serious like this,” he admits. “It was always… temporary. I… I didn’t even know I could want it to be permanent.”

Bruce might have continued to babble, but Tony kisses him again, soft and languorous, until Bruce feels unsteady on his knees and has to brace himself on Tony’s thighs with his hands. Tony’s hand in his hair is still tugging firmly, and Bruce breathes out a helpless sounding moan when Tony pulls back from the kiss.

“All of that is completely rational,” Tony says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tony’s gaze is drilling into Bruce, and Bruce merely nods, still a little breathless.

“I’m going to ask this question now, even though it isn’t fair, Bruce. I’m going to ask because I need it, but you always, always have the right to change your mind. I am not going to run your life. That isn’t what my collar around your neck means to me. But there are some things that I do want, things that my collar around your neck means I should have, and this is one of them. I want you to stay down, okay. But I want you to give me something, even though I am completely aware that asking you when you’re like this isn’t fair.”

“I’m down, but I’m still brilliant, Tony,” Bruce says gently.

Tony laughs. “I know. But still.” He shakes his head a little. “If you stay the night with me, I want you there when I wake up. If you have something to do before I wake, then wake me. I want the chance to see you when I wake up before I see anything else. I want the chance to look at what I’ve done to you in the light of day, and apply aftercare if it’s needed. I want you to look at me in the morning so that I can look at you, and be sure I didn’t go too far. Can you do that for me? Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“I would love to do that for you,” Bruce says, thoughtless, and only blushes after, when he sees the warmth in Tony’s eyes.

Tony kisses him again, a little roughly this time, teeth scraping at Bruce’s lips, and Bruce is fully hard now, and he wants to reach up and touch Tony’s face, his hair, but isn’t sure if that’s allowed. It doesn’t matter if it’s allowed, though, because he can’t seem to control his hands, and he runs his thumb down the big tendon in Tony’s neck and slides it under his shirt to trace the line of Tony’s collar bone while his other hand cups Tony’s jaw. Tony doesn’t object, even shifts his body so that Bruce can touch him more easily, and Bruce feels like he can’t even help it when he whispers, “Tony, can I suck you?”

Tony’s hand tightens in his hair, pulling Bruce’s head back and to the side, and Tony’s mouth trails down the hinge of Bruce’s jaw, soft and wet until he reaches Bruce’s pulse point, and then sharp and debilitating when he closes his teeth around the tendon hard. Bruce cries out and clutches at Tony; Tony worries at Bruce’s throat until Bruce is groaning out a hoarse sound. When he lets go, the air is icy against Bruce’s neck, and Bruce is shuddering and feels loose-limbed, almost like he feels after orgasm, though his cock is still rock hard and jerking in his slacks.

“Where are you, Bruce?” Tony grates out, and Bruce’s whole body clenches with satisfaction, that Tony sounds like that because of _him_ , and that Bruce knows he could make it better, make it more, if Tony will let him.

“One point five, Tony,” Bruce whispers, and lets his fingertips drift to the mark on his throat, shivering at the sting of them against his skin.

“Stand up,” Tony says.

Bruce does at once, without question.

“Back up three feet,” Tony orders, and Bruce’s cock is dampening his underwear with precome, and he moves back obediently, and watches in silence as Tony picks up the couch cushion and returns it to where it belongs.

Bruce wants to ask again if he can suck Tony -- he can see the outline of Tony’s cock in his jeans, hard and ready -- but suspects that Tony could occasionally be exactly the type of dominant to refuse him just _because_ he’d asked more than once.

“Strip,” Tony says, and Bruce does it, balancing between alacrity and grace, until he’s naked and hard, his clothes a twisted knot on the floor, and Tony’s eyes are all hunger and heat. Tony stalks around him -- Bruce does not make the mistake of trying to follow his progress -- until Bruce can almost feel the weight of his gaze on the welts and bruises on Bruce’s back.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Tony almost whispers, and Bruce feels himself light up, helpless, not even doubtful, because Tony voice sounding like that means it can’t be a lie.

A moment later Bruce shouts and goes to his toes as Tony runs his hands roughly over his back, preternaturally aware of where it hurts most and of which welts to drag across with his fingertips. Bruce shudders but manages to force himself flat-footed. Tony has the right; Bruce gave it to him. Bruce doesn’t want Tony to mistake surprise for objection. Tony apparently doesn’t even consider it as an objection; his hands sweep across Bruce’s shoulders before Bruce has even managed to relax, and then Tony is cupping Bruce’s ass in both hand, hard, nails digging into the skin, and Bruce can hear himself panting, but can’t stop it, doesn’t really try.

“Some of these are already off color,” Tony murmurs. “I knew you, the human you, got some of the benefit from the serum, but not how much.”

“Not like Steve,” Bruce grates out, staccato. “Maybe a tenth of Steve.”

“Still,” Tony says, and then pauses for a long moment. “Could I lay welts on top of these?” His voice is almost academic, but his fingertips are still digging deeply into Bruce’s bruised ass. “Without danger.”

Bruce tries to think the question through, really tries, but he’s, he really, he knows he can’t be trusted to judge his own safety. “Think so,” he pants, “But Tony, I’m down, I’m really, I can’t see the line.”

Tony’s hands slide up from his ass to his hips, and he presses a soft kiss against Bruce’s shoulder blade. “Thank you for telling me that,” he says gently.

“I can’t scar,” Bruce says, shuddering all over at the admission, and absolutely unable to hold it back. “Anything you do to me, as soon as I, when I transform, it’s all undone. You could do anything.”

He hears Tony inhale sharply even over his own breathing, and then Tony’s forehead is pressing against the nape of his neck. “I can’t tell if I’m terrified or excited to know that,” he says, breath hot against Bruce’s tender skin. “Where are you, Bruce?”

“Point eight,” Bruce says, though he thinks it might be lower. He can’t be sure anymore.

“Okay, listen, Bruce. If you want to, you can suck my cock. But if you do, that’s all you get. Do you understand?” Tony asks.

“Yes,” Bruce breathes, almost limp with relief, he wants to touch Tony so much.

“Or,” Tony murmurs, and leans in close enough that Bruce can feel his lips touching his ear. “I can use the belt I’m wearing on your chest and belly and maybe your thighs, and when I’m done with that, when you’re sore and throbbing all over, I’ll fuck you. I haven’t decided if I’ll let you get off, but I’ll make you sore, Bruce, I’ll make you hurt inside and out.”

Bruce chokes out a little sobbing sound; his skin is on fire with need, and he’s down, he’s down so far.

“You’d have to be so good,” Tony whispers into the cup of Bruce’s ear. “I don’t have any restraints, no tools to make you be still and safe, nothing to hold you down while I fuck you up, Bruce.”

Bruce twists desperately between Tony’s offer and his own need, and it takes everything he has to whisper, “Defenestration.”

Tony drops to his knees on the carpet and uses his hands to ease Bruce down in front of him, face sharp with concern. “Okay,” he murmurs, voice gentle as he strokes down Bruce’s arms for long moments. His hands settle on Bruce’s shoulders and he tightens them, squeezing until some of the tension is physically drained out of Bruce.

There are a few minutes of silence, Tony studying him while Bruce fights to stay calm, to stay down as much as he can. Eventually, he can’t put off looking at Tony’s face.

Tony looks steady, patient; he doesn’t ask. He just watches Bruce, as though he knows that Bruce is just working up the nerve to explain.

Bruce sighs. “If I’m too far down, I can’t make good decisions,” he begins finally.

“Good decisions for whom?” Tony asks, but there is no force behind it, no dominance. Just curiosity.

“For both of us,” Bruce says softly. “I… what you said, I wanted that, Tony. But without the bondage, without the way that _grounds_ me, I don’t know if I could take it. It isn’t safe…” He trails off with a choked little laugh. “None of it is really safe. But if you hurt me without the… the safety net of the bondage, and I’m far enough down, I don’t control anything. I don’t know that it would happen, but I don’t know it wouldn’t. The pain is a kind of meditation, but the bondage is what makes me feel safe enough to meditate that way. I want.” Bruce shoots a pleading glance at Tony, but Tony is only watching him, head a little cocked. “I want to be able to give you what you want. But I’m not willing to risk your life.” Bruce looks away, a mixture of fear and embarrassment at his lack of control. Tony cups his jaw for a moment, and then flexes his fingers enough to bring Bruce’s face forward again. “I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers.

“I think you can control it,” Tony murmurs, and strokes the backs of his fingers along Bruce’s jaw. “But that’s something we can work up to. Never apologize to me for doing what you feel you have to do to keep either of us safe, Bruce. Don’t be sorry. I need for you to tell me these things. Never be sorry.”

Bruce lets his head tip to rest his brow on Tony’s shoulder. Tony cards his fingers through Bruce’s hair and rubs at the back of his neck until Bruce is feeling calm and easy again, though not quite as easy as before. His cock is still rock hard, and from his position, he can see that Tony’s is, too. But he doesn’t know Tony’s policy on moving back into a scene from a safeword, so he doesn’t say anything about it. He just lets Tony’s hands soothe him.

“What do you need now, Bruce?” Tony eventually murmurs.

“What are my choices?” Bruce asks, his voice a little wavering, but sincere.

Tony must understand that Bruce truly wants options, because he doesn’t press. “We can have sex of some variety, we can stretch out on your couch and mock daytime television, we could go to your lab, where you can tell me all about the biochemical transmitters, we could go to mine, where I could tell you all about the improvements I’ve made to the Widow’s Bites. We could go out walking, just to stretch our legs and see the sites. We could find the rest of the team and amuse ourselves with whatever they’re doing. You could go back to your lab and think more about what you want to be doing. We could talk more about our expectations of each other. We could go to the penthouse and play with my new holographic pool table. You could still suck my cock, if you want. Or we could go upstairs and I’ll do what I said I’d do to you, but with bondage in place. We can do whatever you need. If you need us to take up knitting, we can do that. If you need to do yoga, that’s okay. If you even need to force _me_ to do yoga, I’ll complain the whole time, but I’ll definitely do it. So tell me what you need.” Tony pauses for a moment, and then says, “I still want the chance to oil your back.”

Almost all of those choices involve the two of them together, and that’s the most important thing to Bruce. He didn’t really think that Tony would bolt after Bruce used his safeword, but it’s a comfort to be sure of it.

“I would love a backrub,” Bruce sighs, letting his hands clutch a little a Tony’s shirt.

“Yeah?” Tony asks, sounding pleased. “It’s going to hurt like hell, you know that, right? You can take that kind of pain without the restraints?”

“It’s different,” Bruce says truthfully. “I can take it.”

“I have things I use in the penthouse,” Tony says. He hesitates and says, “I don’t know where the rest of the team is right now, Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t quite string the two together until he remembers Tony telling Bruce he’d come up to the penthouse naked next time. He thinks about it for long moments, but he feels calm and still, and if he is going to face them like this, it seems like a fairly good time to do it. And he’d never meant to hide it.

“It’s okay,” Bruce says. “I’m okay.”

Tony pulls back to look at Bruce. “Where are you?”

“Two point two,” Bruce says. “Down enough not to be worried.”

Tony nods. “I could check with JARVIS, if you want some warning,” he offers.

Bruce smiles a little. “Wouldn’t that take some of the fun out of it for you?” he asks, seriously, but amused, too.

Tony grins. “I hope they’re all up there,” he says, unrepentant. He hooks his finger into Bruce’s collar and pulls him down into a brief kiss. “Ready?”

Bruce nods, and Tony takes his hand and leads him to the elevator.

The act of riding the elevator is enough to make Bruce’s cock harder and his headspace deeper. Since he’s doing this, he’s glad that Tony is with him. It’s not that he couldn’t have handled the team on his own; it’s just that Tony’s presence alone will alleviate most of the questions. Not that anything is certain. The penthouse could be entirely empty.

As soon as the elevator doors open, that idea is immediately disproved.

None of the team even look up at first. They are gathered around Tony’s holographic pool table while Natasha lines up a shot. There is, bizarrely, a stack of holographic money on the edge of the table, and Clint is holding a beer and heckling Natasha. Thor is squashed up beside Steve, both of them watching to see if Natasha will make the shot. She isn’t holding a pool cue, is just lining up her hands as if she had one, and Bruce thinks that out of everyone playing, she’s got the most control over exactly how she holds herself at any given moment, which means she is probably going to take the holographic pot.

She shifts minutely, twitching her fingers of her left hand and then sweeping the curl of her right fist forward, and the cue ball ball banks neatly off the bumper, strikes the eight ball gently, and it and slides into the pocket, to the very realistic sounds of balls clacking and dropping into pockets. 

“I could beat you if I had an arrow,” Clint complains.

“No bringing real items into the holographic game,” Natasha says, grinning. “What’s the pot, JARVIS?”

“Eleven hundred and twelve dollars,” JARVIS says.

“Who snuck that twelve dollars in there?” Clint complains. “The buy in was twenty.”

“I confess, I fear it was I,” Thor says, shamefaced. “The faces on your currency still confuse me.” Steve laughs.

Natasha straightens, hand half-outstretched to take her money from Clint, who is counting it out, and freezes when she sees Bruce.

For a moment, no one says anything at all. Bruce stands still under their scrutiny, still easy enough not to be embarrassed, though that is as likely due to Tony’s hand on the back of his neck as anything.

“Hi, Bruce,” Steve says, smiling a little. “I didn’t see you this morning.”

“I’m a slave to my internal alarm clock,” Bruce says wryly. “Consequences of a misspent youth.”

It’s Thor that says, “You have bound him to you,” clearly talking to Tony. “I wish you both the sincerest joy.”

“Thanks, Thor,” Bruce says, smiling a little.

“Wow,” Clint says. “Nice… everything.” Bruce would probably have chalked it up to Clint’s brand of irreverent humor, except that he’s actually _looking_ , and there isn’t any mistaking the admiration in his gaze.

“You’ll have to update your status with SHIELD,” Coulson says, and Bruce might have thought _that_ was Coulson’s low-key humor, except he looks dead serious.

“I’m going to assume that you’re joking,” Tony says, but he sounds like he isn’t sure either.

“Not at all. SHIELD recognizes all forms of relationships as legitimate. There are things like power of attorney and benefits and medical proxy that work however you want them to work, considering the nature of the relationship, but you’ll definitely want to get with them about the collar. Otherwise the next time he’s in medical, it’s probably getting cut off.”

“Good luck to medical with that,” Tony says flatly, and runs his hand down from the back of Bruce’s neck, touching the collar lightly, and then down the line of his spine. Bruce shudders, unable to stop it, aware of them all seeing it, bizarrely unbothered by it. Tony scratches back up Bruce’s back with his nails, and Bruce makes a low, rough noise.

Natasha says, quietly and without any visible emotion, “Can we see?”

Bruce tenses a little, but Tony’s hand on the back of his neck slides away, allowing Bruce to respond however he likes.

He turns around, still and calm, and just isn’t worried. They’re his team. They’re apparently all sleeping together in some combination already. They support his giant green rage monster. They’ll support this, too.

When he turns back around, they all look more serious except Steve, who is watching them all as though he might have to leap in front of either Bruce or Tony at any time.

“Are you exclusive?” Clint asks, and Bruce can’t help but blink in surprise. “Because I don’t want to step on any toes, but you wear it well, man.”

“I would fear unleashing my full strength upon the doctor, but I believe I am also in a position to please him in this fashion,” Thor murmurs.

“It needs to be oiled,” Natasha says.

Before anyone can say anything else, Bruce says, “It’s exclusive. At least.” He stammers a little. “For right now, it’s exclusive. We still have things to talk out. But.”

Steve is grinning.

“Since you’re all here,” Tony says, “And apparently so interested, I’d like to key his lock to all of you. The collar will stretch to accommodate the Hulk’s mass, but the lock will have to come off it first. I want everyone here to be able to remove the lock in case of an emergency.”

Natasha looks at Bruce, as though for permission. He nods, finally feeling a blush touch his cheeks.

Tony works the lock off the collar from behind Bruce’s neck and passes it to Natasha first. “There’s an indentation on the side. Press it. When it turns green, it’ll take a DNA sample.” Natasha does it, and passes it to Clint.

Coulson is observing Bruce, expression still. When he finally says something, though, it’s to Tony. “Do you have a cane?”

“No,” Tony says, sounding a little startled to be asked. “I’ve had one used on me before, but I’ve never used one myself. Why?”

“He’s got beautiful skin,” Coulson says matter-of-factly. “He’d welt nicely.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tony says, sounding like he actually intends to do so.

“I’ll take care of it,” Coulson says. “Just to be sure of the quality. And if you want lessons, I can probably come up with a volunteer, if you don’t want Bruce involved.”

“I would be pleased to volunteer!” Thor shouts enthusiastically.

Coulson’s mouth twitches into amusement for a second, and then just he shrugs. The lock makes its way around to him and he gives it a DNA sample.

“How do you feel?” Clint asked, oddly soothing, eyes dark with something gentle.

Bruce can’t help his smile. “I feel good,” he says, and Clint smiles back. “I feel, it’s all been good, and, just, you guys… I. Thank you. I mean...”

“We know what you mean,” Natasha says. “And if you ever need anything, you can always come to us.” Tony glares a little, but she waves him away. “I don’t mean sex. Not unless that’s something the two of you agree on. I mean anything. Just to talk or to have company and not talk. Anything at all.”

“I was really expecting someone to threaten me by now,” Tony says dryly.

She gives Tony an amazingly soft look. “How long have you been trying, Tony?” she asks. Tony looks away, which she apparently takes as enough of an answer. “You’re sometimes a dick, but not like this. We all know that, by now. You’ve done enough to prove it.”

Clint and Thor murmur their agreement, and Coulson says, “We trust you with him, and if you hurt him in any way that he isn’t fully onboard with, we’ll take turns tazing you.”

Tony snorts, but his eyes are soft.

Steve says, “Can I stay with you tonight, Phil?”

“Always,” Coulson says, and reaches out to brush his fingers through Steve’s hair much as Tony had done.

“You know you’re still welcome,” Tony tells Steve firmly.

Steve smiles. “Tonight I just need somebody to sleep with, and Natasha’s feet are cold.” Natasha glares. “We’ll work the rest of it out once you guys have things worked out.”

“Fair enough,” Tony says. “Bruce and I will be retiring to the bedroom for a back rub. Anyone need anything before we go?”

“Can I touch it?” Natasha asks, voice neutral.

Bruce’s heart kicks up anxiously, and he just looks at her, uncertain.

Apparently he’s an easy read, because she just shakes her head. “Not yet, then,” she says. “But we want you to know you can come to us for that, too. I know you find it hard, but all you have to do is tell us you’re ready.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, a little miserable. 

She blows him a kiss. “We’ll wait. You’re worth it.”

Tony slides an arm around his waist. “You’re okay. You don’t need to come up. No one is going to touch you without your permission.” Bruce does settle a little, leaning a little into Tony.

“Try to understand,” he says, his voice a little husky. “It isn’t that I don’t want to. I do. So much. But it’s been so long, it’s like learning how all over again.”

“It’s okay,” Clint says. “We’ve all had to relearn things at some point in our lives. Just tell us how we can help. And for the record, I’m _glad_ that you decided to do this. We were worried, Bruce. We were worried that you’d leave.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “Thank you.”

“Okay, that’s enough raining destruction down on his subspace,” Tony says. He catches Bruce’s hand. “Come on, Bruce. I’ll rub your back until you cry.”

Bruce lets out a surprised chuckle, only a little cracked, and lets Tony lead him away. He is super aware of their eyes on his back and ass again, but this time it isn’t just easy. It actually heats him a little to know that they want him, however they want him.

He’s not so distracted, though, that he forgets about the knee line. As soon as he goes down, Tony stops to pull Bruce against his thigh, hand caressing in his hair. “Good,” he says simply. “Got any scents you particularly like or don’t like?”

“I’m not crazy about coconut or flowers, but to be honest, I want to smell like whatever you want me to smell like, Tony.”

Tony chuckles darkly. “So that would be leather and come and sweat. I don’t think they make that in a bottle.”

Bruce snorts.

“Where are you, Bruce?”

“Three, more or less, Tony,” Bruce says. 

“Not bad, after running the gauntlet,” Tony says. “Come help me fold out the massage table.”

Bruce, bemused, follows Tony into his palatial bathroom and finds that there is, indeed a massage table, in a smallish room that also contains a ridiculous amount of linens. Tony drapes it with a towel and gestures for Bruce to lie down; Bruce does, though it pins his cock uncomfortably underneath him.

Tony opens several bottles and lets him take his pick -- something like sandalwood and verbena -- and then dims the lights.

“I was actually thinking this was going to be something less…” Bruce can’t quite find the word he wants.

“You thought I was going to lay you out on my bed and get oil all over the sheets and give you an untrained massaged designed mostly to hurt you and get me off?” Tony asks.

“Uh,” Bruce says, because of course it sounds bad like that. “I guess I did, Tony.”

“Trust me,” Tony says, a smile in his voice.

Tony’s hands are hard, and even slicked with the oil they seem to drag painfully along every sore spot on Bruce’s back. Bruce groans in appreciation, cock jumping beneath him, and then it all blurs into a state someplace between fantastic and agonizing as Tony presses and kneads at his muscles, his motions clearly practiced, and Bruce can hardly keep track of the sounds he is making, which range from whimpers to moans. Tony moves all the way down his back to Bruce’s ass, and Bruce is so sore there he merely makes wretched sounds until it suddenly doesn’t feel wretched anymore, and he finds himself rocking back into Tony’s hands and then pressing his cock against the table beneath him.

“Where are you?” Tony asks, and Bruce’s head spins as he tries to formulate an answer.

“Point eight, Tony, it’s good, it…”

“I know, Bruce,” Tony says and works harder on Bruce’s bruised ass, so that Bruce is letting out little cries and determinedly thrusting his cock against the top of the massage table.

As if by malevolent telepathy, Tony stops less than half a dozen strokes before Bruce would have come, and Bruce whines out a sound of disappointment and goes boneless across the surface of the table.

Tony catches Bruce’s hip and rolls him carefully to one side, and then urges him into a sitting position. Bruce’s legs barely want to hold him, and he staggers into the bedroom, where he’s grateful to be able to fall onto his knees, where he feels steadier. Tony walks along beside him even once Bruce is on his knees, as if to make certain that Bruce can remain even quasi-upright.

“Stop here,” Tony tells him, and puts a hand on his shoulder. They’re still several feet from the bed, which is where Bruce’s befuddled brain had been taking him. Bruce tries to gather up enough attention to look around, and sees that they’re near the sitting area of Tony’s room. It’s small, more of a nook than anything, but it holds a small couch and a chair arranged around a low, crescent shaped table, which is right beside Bruce. “Stay,” Tony says, and moves away from Bruce for a few seconds. He returns with a bottle of water and a bottle of apple juice. “Dealer’s choice,” he says.

“I’d like the juice, please, Tony,” Bruce says, already craving the cold sweetness of it. Tony twists the lid off of it and hands it to Bruce. Bruce guzzles half of it before his thirst is quenched, and he fumbles the bottle onto the table.

Tony is watching him, sitting on the edge of the couch, chin resting in one hand. “If Coulson buys me a cane and offers to give me lessons, is that something you could be involved in, Bruce?”

Bruce is puzzled for a moment, a little too lost in his headspace, and then he remembers the conversation. “I thought Thor volunteered,” he says.

“He did,” Tony said. “But I don’t want to learn how to cane Thor. I want to learn how to cane you. So I want to know. If I bound you down on your belly and brought Coulson into the room to show me how to use the cane, if he hit you with it to show me how it’s done, would that be okay with you?”

Bruce has to think about it for a minute, because it doesn’t sound like a problem to him. He has to check that he’s still in a headspace that’s safe enough to make decisions in, and he has to ponder the logistics of his problem with people touching him, but he still feels the same way. It’s not the kind of touching he covets and fears. He even understands that there will be touching involved. Bruce _has_ been caned, and he understands the way that a careful dominant will map out a subs skin before actually striking with it. It still feels okay. Something like a surgical kind of touching, like something procedural. He’s also aware that Tony might like to watch Coulson hitting him.

The whole team seems to have some kind of sexual roulette going on, and he knows Tony must have been a part of that. Is still a part of it, actually, with Steve.

“Yes, it would be okay with me, Tony,” Bruce says finally.

“You thought about that for a long time, Bruce,” Tony says.

“I was trying to figure out why it would be okay, when other kind of touching isn’t,” Bruce says. “It’s just different. Not the same kind of affection, in a demonstration like that. I mean, it’s not that I don’t know it’s there, but it isn’t demonstrated in the way that it is other times, when it’s obvious that they want to touch me just because they want to be able to touch me.”

Tony is quiet for a few seconds. “I don’t really know how much of that is true,” he admits.

Bruce nods slowly. “It doesn’t matter. It’s how it works in my head, Tony. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

Tony chuckles. “I suppose that’s true.” He catches Bruce by the hair, reaching across the table to do it. “I remember you wanting to suck my cock,” he says solemnly.

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce agrees immediately.

“Good. Stay there, I’m going to get some things. Actually, you know what, get up on the couch. Stretch out on your back. I’m betting you’ll like it.”

Bruce, with no idea exactly what Tony intends, and not able to really care about it if it means getting to suck Tony’s cock, makes his way around the table and pushes himself up onto the couch seat.

It feels like it’s made of steelwool. He pauses for a long moment, scrunching his fingers into it, and yes. It’s possibly the most uncomfortable couch Bruce has ever encountered. He can’t even imagine who would _sell_ a couch made out of whatever this is. Nevertheless, he slides up to his feet and twists around to lie down on it on his back.

Every inch of his abraded skin prickles in spikes and hooks, his shoulders and his ass the worst, even after the oiling. It itches across the backs of his thighs and his lower back as well, stinging, but not actually hurting in the same way. He shifts, and it seems only to make it worse.

He abruptly imagines sucking Tony’s cock on it, and winces internally while his cock throbs between his thighs.

Tony returns with his hands full of leather and pauses to look at Bruce. He grins a little at Bruce’s expression.

“Did you actually buy this thing at a BDSM store?” Bruce asks, genuinely curious.

Tony tips what he’s holding into one hand and slaps Bruce, not hard, but hard enough.

“Sir,” Bruce acknowledges, his face hot with humiliation.

“No,” Tony says, and drags the table a little away from the couch with one hand. “It’s just the kind of furniture they made in the fifties. Wrists.”

Bruce holds them out. The cuffs are supple, almost smooth against his skin, and Bruce is surprised without really knowing why. Once Tony has them on him, he shifts Bruce’s hands up over his head and drags him toward the end of the couch, Bruce’s back dragging jaggedly along the tortuous upholstery. Bruce makes a rough noise of pain, and uses his feet to help Tony maneuver him into position, trying to save the skin of his ass from what his shoulders hadn’t been able to avoid.

He feels the way his body pulls taut when Tony hooks the cuffs to something that must be on the floor, and in spite of his blazing shoulders, his belly twists with need. 

“Up a little more,” Tony says, pulling, and Bruce cooperates as much as he can until his head is actually hanging over the side of the end of the couch, and he can see Tony looking at him, upside down. Before Bruce can think of what he wants to ask, Tony is standing and moving out of Bruce’s range of vision. A moment later, Bruce’s ankles are being cuffed, and he hears the clank of a chain a moment before the cuffs are tugged firmly downward, stretching Bruce out across the couch from shoulders to heels.

He shudders at what it must mean, and he feels a little light headed with fear and uncertainty, but when Tony comes into sight again, he’s gorgeously naked, his cock a thick jut of hard flesh between his thighs.

“Can you do this?” Tony asks, almost casually.

Blushing, Bruce admits, “I haven’t before. Not like this. But I can deepthroat, so, I think so? I’d like to try, Tony.”

“You’re definitely going to try,” Tony says flatly. “And if you can’t manage it, you’re going to try again. And you’re going to keep trying until you can do it. Do you understand, Bruce?”

Bruce, tears prickling at his eyes, nods his understanding.

A little more gently, Tony says, “This couch is the exact right height for it. It’s one of the reasons I keep it.” He smirks.

Then he drops to his knees in front of Bruce, and in spite of Bruce’s anxiety, his mouth waters at the nearness of Tony’s cock. “Open,” Tony says, and Bruce does, and then the taste of Tony is heavy in his mouth, musky and hot, and Bruce doesn’t think about whether or not he can do it. He’ll figure it out somehow, he will, because Tony wants him to, and Bruce desperately wants to succeed. 

Tony’s thrusts are gentle at first, while Bruce figures out the difference in the angle and the way to use his tongue. Tony jerks out hard little noises of pleasure that echo in Bruce’s groin, and he isn’t sure how slowly Tony had intended to go, but it’s only a minute or so before Tony is jerking his hips, one hand wound into Bruce’s hair, and Bruce isn’t taking it all, but each stroke jabs at the back of his throat, forcing out helpless choking sounds and tears gather at the corners of his eyes and trickle into his hair. 

Tony leans forward and jerks Bruce upward, just an inch, but the skin on his back and ass feel scraped raw and Bruce cries out, the pain almost cutting, nothing like what he’s used to for pain, and it throws him a little out of his head, but there’s something good about it, too, something effortless, and he’s trying to think what it might be when Tony shoves hard into Bruce’s mouth, the head of his cock jamming against the back of Bruce’s throat, and then Bruce is tipping his head just right, just the perfect fraction, and Tony’s cock slides into his throat, choking Bruce and causing his cock to dribble precome across his belly at the same time.

“Good, Bruce,” Tony whispers, not pulling back at all, leaving Bruce squirming full-body, lack of breath, and the way he’s being pulled out across the couch, his arms hooked securely to the floor, his cock a painful ache. “Just like that, and don’t move. I want you to let me, just take it, I want it like this, in your throat, choking you.” Tony’s voice is wrecked with lust, and Bruce thinks he’d do almost anything to make Tony sound that way, so he lets his body go as lax as he can, ignores the pain/excitement/fear of not being able to breathe, and lets go of the way he’s been holding his body, to minimize contact with the diamond sharp fabric across his back and ass. Tony’s cock slides further into Bruce’s throat, and he whispers, “You’re so good for me, Bruce. You hurt so good for me.”

A hot wave of pleasure presses behind Bruce’s breastbone and at the base of his skull at the praise, and he lets himself let go of everything but the scent of Tony and the taste of him, the feel of him working his cock into Bruce’s throat while his shoulders and ass scrape along the couch, he lets that boil up in him and take him over, and Tony cradles the front of Bruce’s throat with one hand, groaning, and then presses in further, until Bruce’s face is pressed up against Tony’s tight balls, and for a few long moments there is nothing but Tony shoving into him again and again, never pulling out of his throat, never letting Bruce have a breath, just the pounding of blood in Bruce’s ears and the scent of Tony, dark and musky, and the way that he pulls at his wrists as it goes on, helplessly, the need to breathe overpowering, and the dimness edging his vision and the way he stops pulling, everything going almost gentle, loss of consciousness, Bruce knows, but he doesn’t care, his cock is a rough wave of distant pleasure, the sounds Tony is making are distant, but definitely good sounds, and Bruce wants that, and he is startled almost painfully when Tony drags his cock free of Bruce’s throat, so startled he doesn’t even immediately take a breath. Tony leans over Bruce and slides a hand around his cock. Bruce arches and comes with a thin, hoarse cry, and all of the pain is abruptly back, and Bruce is gasping and gasping for breath and Tony is raining down kisses on his face and shoulders and chest, apparently just everywhere that he can reach, and he is murmuring, “I love you, I love you, Bruce,” low and tense, as though he expects a negative reaction.

Bruce’s voice is a raspy crack, but he says, “Tony, please, you can’t tell me that and not kiss me, please,” and Tony makes a short, hurt sound, but is suddenly kissing Bruce, twisting around and supporting his head, mouth a demand and a plea, and Bruce wants the kisses but can’t seem to shut up at the same time, is gasping out, “I love you, please keep me, please, Tony…”

“As long as you want to be kept,” Tony promises, smearing the words against Bruce’s lips, and then biting down on Bruce’s tongue. “I should have told you yesterday, I thought it was too soon, but Bruce it’s been going on forever, since the day I met you, and our _lives_ , Bruce, I don’t ever want to take the chance that you didn’t know.”

There are tears in Tony’s eyes, not spilling, but glittering there, and Bruce says, “I knew, I wouldn’t have taken your collar, Tony, and you wouldn’t have offered. I knew what you were telling me.”

Tony buries his face against Bruce’s chest for a long moment, though he is still supporting the weight to Bruce’s head with both hands. “I’m sorry,” he breathes against Bruce’s skin. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I thought it might be just that you needed me.”

“Tony,” Bruce whispers, his voice still cracking, but gentle, sincere. “Tony, you never believe. But I knew. And I was ready to wait for you to believe me.”

Tony shifts, and suddenly Bruce’s hands are free of the floor, though still bound together. Tony slides an arm under Bruce’s back and levers him carefully upright, before moving down and unchaining Bruce’s feet from the floor, though they too are still bound.

“Let me see your back,” Tony says, and Bruce twists around onto his knees obediently. Tony runs his hands over Bruce’s abraded skin and Bruce hisses, but arches into Tony’s hands anyway. “Was it good?” Tony wants to know.

“It was different, it was new,” Bruce says. He’s still panting a little. “I’m not sure how it was, but can we try again? Maybe when the marks are still fresh, Tony?”

Tony smiles. “Yeah, we can do that.” He captures Bruce’s bottle of apple juice and presses it into his hands. Bruce guzzles it greedily, letting it soothe away the scraped and bruised feeling of his throat as much as it can, but it won’t be enough, and Bruce can’t help it, he’ll enjoy what’s left over, he’ll remember and he’ll hear the rasp in his voice, and it will be good for him all over again.

“A thing I don’t know,” Bruce says, after Tony has made it through most of his bottle of water. “A lot of things, I know that, I know that we have to talk, but, Tony, a thing I need to know right now. Am I allowed to ask for things I want? Do you want all of that to be in your power, and of course you would have the right to tell me no, but can I ask?”

“Unless I specifically tell you not to ask, you can ask whatever you want. You’re right that I won’t always do it, but I’ll always keep it in mind,” Tony says, looking intently at Bruce, a little concerned.

“I need something more… no. I don’t need anything else. I’m good here, It was good. But I want something else. The pain was different, I hardly recognized it as pain. It was, and it was good, but it wasn’t what it feels like in my head. If I had more experience…” Tony puts a hand on his knee. He is looking at Bruce fondly.

“Just tell me,” he says.

Bruce nods. “I know my back isn’t healed enough. But you said, earlier…” He darts a sideways look at Tony. “You said that you could still hurt me. That you could make me sore inside and out.”

“I did,” Tony agrees seriously. “I’m assuming you want the bondage?”

Bruce flushes dully. “Yes,” he says.

Tony touches his face. “That is not a bad thing, Bruce. Knowing what you need to get what you want is uniformly a good thing.”

“You seemed to want…”

Tony shakes his head. “I wanted spontaneous sex,” he says. “There is an easy way to make that possible for us. We just make sure we have the correct equipment anyplace where that urge might strike.”

Bruce feels himself flushing again, but this time there is a thin ribbon of both amusement and humiliation at the idea of stashing bondage gear all over the tower, and he can feel his smile, bashful and probably silly.

Still, Tony says, “Something I need to know. The asphyxiation; it was good for you? Not scary-dangerous?”

Bruce smiles slowly. “It was scary-dangerous, but not like you mean. I was scared because it was dangerous, but it was so good for you. I want to be able to do anything that’s that good for you. It happens gradually; things like that don’t usually catch the other guys attention, Tony. Not when I feel safe. I felt safe,” he repeats, because he thinks maybe Tony needs to hear it repeated.

Tony nods and starts unbuckling the cuffs from Bruce’s wrists. Bruce watches as Tony does the same to his ankles. “I want you to clear the bed of all the blankets and all but two of the pillows.”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce agrees, and stands, remembers the knee line, and drops down again. Tony gives him a knowing look, but just stands and circles the table, and then around the foot of the bed to his kink closet.

Bruce drags the blankets down off the bed and leaves them in a rumpled pile a few feet away. He tosses pillows away -- it seems like there are about thirty of them -- until there are only two left, and then sits where he is beside the bed, waiting.

Tony brings over a tangle of leather straps and dumps them on the foot of the bed. “I need you off center to your right,” he tells Bruce. Bruce scrambles up and positions himself toward the right side of the bed. Tony brings out heavy cuffs, these connected with chains, and goes to work on Bruce’s hands. He spreads Bruce’s arm’s wide and a little hard, the undersides showing, and hooks the chains and the cuffs themselves to the bolts on the headboard, leaving Bruce with almost no range of motion at all. Bruce can feel his cock hardening again, and tries to ignore it. Tony tugs him down so his head is on the bed, his arms up and over his head, and then slides a cuff around Bruce’s right ankle. He uses a thinner length of leather to bind the cuff to the side of the bed, and then takes another cuff and affixes it to Bruce’s thigh just above his knee. Bruce watches with interest as Tony uses another length of leather to bind that cuff to the side of the bed, pulling Bruce’s knee down tight against the mattress, his leg bent to show the inside of his thigh.

Bruce remembers abruptly exactly what Tony had suggested that morning, and shudders a little.

Tony copies it on the other side, though the lengths of leather are longer, since Bruce is further from the left than he is from the right. It’s sturdy, though, Bruce can feel it. He can lift each knee about an inch off the bed before it pulls at the cuffs and his skin. Tony tucks a pillow under Bruce’s ass, giving him even less room to wiggle. He slides the other pillow toward the foot of the bed, apparently having no plans for it at the moment.

“I know you’re not comfortable,” Tony says easily. “But is it bearable?”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce says, and it is.

“Good. I want to talk. Where are you?”

Bruce takes stock of himself, knowing that the bondage is a factor, but says, “Two point two, but I can come up.”

Tony regards him steadily. “You can come up from that on your own?”

Bruce blushes a little. “Not entirely. I’d need you to help me, Tony.”

“Help you how?” Tony asks.

“Tell me about the Widow’s Bites,” Bruce suggests, and Tony smirks a little, but launches into an explanation that is technical and intricate enough that it brings Bruce’s brain online in fairly quick order. Tony, watching him, seems to see when it’s enough.

“Where are you now?” he asks.

“Still down, 3.5, maybe,” Bruce says. “Not so far that I can’t have a deliberate discussion, Tony. What are we talking about?”

Tony quirks a smile. “Rules. Expectations. Desires. Things we really should have talked about previous to you accepting my collar.”

Bruce nods slowly. “It should be pretty easy with the bondage,” he admits. “I’ll be calmer, less embarrassed.”

Tony strokes a hand down Bruce’s chest, curling his fingertips into the hair and tugging slightly. “Good, I want you calm. When we talked before, you seemed pretty clear on what was good for you, which was most anything except blindfolds. Any reason why blindfolds are deal breakers?”

“They’re like the opposite of the bondage,” Bruce says. “Not being able to see is a feeling like falling.” He pauses. “Is this a scene? I need to know about the honorific.”

“No, not a scene. Just a talk with a little bondage thrown in to keep you steady.”

“How did you know I’d need it?” Bruce asks.

“I guessed,” Tony says, and grins. “The bondage is a big part of it for you. It made sense that it would keep you calm while we did some negotiation, but I was betting it wouldn’t be so much as to tip you too hard into your subspace.” Tony shifts so that he’s pressing his hip against the right side of Bruce’s body. “We talked a little about what I need. The lunches. The chance to wake up and have you with me. Do you have things you need from me?”

Bruce doesn’t have to consider, at least not yet. “I need to be equals in my lab, and in yours. I can’t really work if I’m always thinking about you turning me over a desk. As much as the idea sounds good, the reality won’t be. I need that space in my lab to be mine. I need the fact that I’m a scientist to mean that you have respect for me apart from our personal relationship. And I need my space on my floor sometimes, Tony. That doesn’t mean you aren’t welcome in it. I just need some time that’s just for me.”

“I can knock,” Tony says.

Bruce feels himself flushing again. “No, I… I like it when you let yourself in. I like how it feels to know that my floor is your domain. If I really need to be alone, I’ll lock it off at the elevator. But I mostly won’t.”

“Okay,” Tony says gently. “What about in public?”

Bruce looks at him for a long time. “Do you mean in public with the team, or actually out in public?”

“Both,” Tony says. “Eventually, someone is going to recognize your collar for what it is. We have to be ready to deal with that.”

“You have suggestions?” Bruce asks.

“I don’t think we should comment either way, but Bruce, if we’re in a place to caters to subs and Doms, I’d like to be attended. I won’t take you anywhere like that until you’re comfortable, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want that kind of public attendance.”

Bruce nods slowly. “I might have to work up to it, Tony. If it were anyone but you, maybe it wouldn’t be a problem, but with the way you live in the spotlight… I don’t know.”

“I figured,” Tony says. “Though you should know, I am familiar with several very discreet places.” He strokes his fingertips along Bruce’s belly. “As far as the team goes, I want it all. They know. Nothing is going to come as a surprise to them. If we’re watching TV, I want you at my feet. If we’re eating dinner, I expect you to serve.”

“And the sex?” Bruce asks nervously.

“Another thing we’ll wait and see about,” Tony says. “But if it matters to you, I think the fact that you don’t have a problem letting Coulson cane you, makes me suspect you’ll find that you don’t mind most of what they see. You said yourself that you had exhibitionist tendencies. And I know they’d all like to see it.”

“What about you?” Bruce asks. “Do you want to show them what it looks like when you use me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Tony admits. “A lot of that depends on how _you_ feel about it. I’m not shy, but I’m not interested in forcing you into a situation in which your discomfort overrides your desires.”

“I can’t even tell you some of them,” Bruce admits. “I never had the time to really experiment.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Tony says. “We’ll make time for that.” He smirks. “I’m looking forward to it. How about some specific things. What do you want to do that you aren’t sure is alright with me?”

“I want to touch you,” Bruce says. “It doesn’t have to be all the time, but I want to touch you everywhere.”

Tony nods. “We can do that. I’d like to have total access to you any time you’re not in the lab or locked on your floor. If we run into each other in the hall, I want to be able to shove you down onto your knees. If we have the penthouse to ourselves, I want to be able to fuck you on every available surface. I know what you said about having onlookers, but if that happens and someone shows up, I don’t want to have to stop.”

Bruce’s breath hitches a little uncertainly, but his cock jerks against his belly enthusiastically. “I think that’s okay,” Bruce whispers. “I mean, the idea is…” His cock jerks again, and Tony wraps a warm, hard hand around it, giving it just the lightest stroke.

“Yeah, I think I get you,” he says quietly. “And like that, it’s one at a time, most likely. Something you can handle until you get used to something a little more deliberate.”

Bruce’s face feels like it’s on fire, but he manages a nod, and even manages not to shove his cock up through the light curl of Tony’s fingers.

“What about inviting them?” Tony asks. “One at a time?”

“Steve,” Bruce says hoarsely. “Start with Steve, and then maybe I can tell you how I feel?”

“Perfect,” Tony says, and leans over to kiss Bruce on the mouth, a firm, careful press of lips, more comfort than anything. “What about you? You have any ideas or requests?”

“I told you about the… the cock piercing,” Bruce says. “I don’t think right away, but.”

“You know they’ll tear out when you transform,” Tony says, watching him. Then, before Bruce can gather himself to answer, says, “Of course you do. That just means that I’d have to do it again.” Bruce’s face is on fire, and he’s shaking, but he nods. “And if you like that, I’m betting cock and ball bondage is a go for you all the way across the board. Do you like it on it’s own, or in conjunction with actual sex?”

“Both, Tony,” Bruce says, voice a little strangled. “I like, that is. I also like it in conjunction with orgasm control.”

Tony beams. “Oh, Bruce. The things I’m going to do to you,” he says silkily. “How do you feel about long term bondage?”

“I’ve never tried, but I find the concept appealing,” Bruce admits. “I want… I know this isn’t exactly about sex, but it kind of is?” Bruce says uncertainly. “I want to be allowed to touch the team. Any time I can, I mean. If I think I can, I want permission to try it, however it comes up.”

“Of course,” Tony says easily. “That’s half the goal right there. Or maybe not half. Maybe like a quarter. Or maybe an eighth.” He grins. “It’s some part of the goal anyway.” Tony’s expression goes serious again. “And you don’t need my permission to touch anyone on a daily basis, Bruce. I’m not that kind of dominant. I trust you. With the team, especially. And if it does happen, and you find yourself wanting more than just touching, you come to me first. I’m not telling you no, Bruce, I want that clear, and if for some reason you just can’t reach me and just can’t wait, I’m not telling you no. There might be consequences, but I am not forbidding it. But if it comes down to it and you start feeling like you actually want to take one of them to bed with you, I want to make those decisions. I want to choose who to share you with and how. I want that like I want you in bed with me when I wake up. I don’t want to take over your life, but I want my collar to give me that right over your body. Do you understand?”

“I don’t think I could do it any other way,” Bruce whispers. “I need you; you’re the one that keeps me safe. I can’t imagine a situation in which I’d do anything without your express permission.”

Tony gazes at Bruce for several seconds. “But you can imagine how it is possible now, can’t you? In a way that you couldn’t before you saw how they all looked at you?”

Bruce nods slowly. “I didn’t think they’d be… I was pretty sure they’d accept it, especially with the way you talked about how things work between all of you, but I didn’t think they’d actually be _interested_.”

“You and I are going to work on your self esteem,” Tony says. “You and I and probably most of the rest of the team. Promise me you’ll work on seeing yourself through other peoples’ eyes.”

“I’ll try,” Bruce says, throat a little tight.

“I know you will. You told me you had never been hit with anything that didn’t work for you. Has that been exclusively back and ass?”

“Mostly,” Bruce admits. “A couple of times on my front. Once in the face.”

Tony look interested. “With what?”

“A riding crop,” Bruce admits, and then further admits, “It was good. I had a welt. I like…”

“I know you like it when I slap you,” Tony says. “It’s good to hear anyway. Can you tell me what it does in your head, getting slapped like that?”

“It’s usually because I did something wrong,” Bruce says slowly. “So it’s a punishment, but it’s also… it’s humiliating. It’s like being hit when you aren’t worth the effort of anything complicated, so it’s humiliating. It brings me down, sometimes faster than the bondage. And it makes me cry, and that’s humiliating, too, even if it’s just because it hurts and it isn’t even real tears, but just that I can’t keep back an eye-watering response. That’s almost enough to make it into real tears.”

“And if I were to point out how easy it is to slap you around and make you cry…?” Tony wonders.

Bruce blinks rapidly, cock aching, and Tony slide the back of his fingers along the line of Bruce’s jaw.

“You’re being so good, being open with me,” Tony says gently. “You’re being so good, trusting me.”

“It matters that you care enough to ask,” Bruce chokes out. Tony cups his jaw and kisses him, open mouthed this time, but still more comfort than sex.

“A few more things,” Tony says when he pulls back. “We don’t have to work everything out today.” Bruce nods. “You know I’m a scientist. You know I’m a dominant. You know I’m a sadist. So you won’t be surprised that I have some equipment pertinent to all of those things scattered about the tower. Do you feel adventurous enough to try some of them out?”

Bruce grins a little. “I can’t wait,” he says, genuinely intrigued. 

Tony grins back. “Usually people are a little more wary,” he says, but he’s still smiling. “Lucky me, you don’t scare easily.”

“I do, though,” Bruce says. “I do scare easily. But thats part of what works for me.”

“You said you don’t scar,” Tony says, abruptly serious. “Does that mean bloodplay is on your list?”

“I don’t really know about knives,” Bruce says slowly. “But you can flay the skin off my back, Tony.”

“Do you like it, or will you put up with it for me because it will heal when you change?” Tony asks.

“I like it,” Bruce whispers. “But you know my blood is toxic. In tiny doses, like if you bit my lip by accident, it’s not enough to really hurt you, but if we were going to do something seriously bloody like that, we’d have to be very careful.”

“I can make arrangements,” Tony says, not sounding as though he’s worried about it. “What else you got?”

Bruce inhales deeply, and gathers his thoughts. A lot of his mental list has already been covered, but there are still a few things. “I like to wake up to being fucked,” he says. “I like that moment where I don’t what’s going on and I panic and then I remember that you’re my Dom and you’re _allowed_.” Tony’s eyes glitter at that, lips curled slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I can take a lot more bondage, pain, and humiliation than you’re giving me. You’re not doing it wrong; it’s all been really good. But you should know, in case you need to, or in case I need you to. I like bondage on the dangerous side of painful. You don’t have to do that, I like bondage all ways, but it’s still something you should know. I find some kinds of toys to be deeply humiliating, odd things, plain toys… almost anything that isn’t an actual cock. Being penetrated that way is... I don’t know why. And. There is something about the way I sound when I’m gagged and screaming that makes me a little crazy.”

“Just hearing you say that makes me a little crazy,” Tony says roughly. “Anything you prefer?”

“Something that really muffles sound,” Bruce says. “Other things, too, for other kinds of situations. Ball gags, especially the kind with holes that make spit drip down your chin, those are good. If you want to…” He pauses and feels his face heat again, but forces himself to move on. “I can be a pet or I can be a pony. I’ve been both. Neither of them are things I have to have, but I like them.”

Tony’s gaze is dark as he listens. “The grounds at the mansion,” he says mildly, “are definitely big enough to run you as a pony.”

Bruce’s belly clenches into a tight knot of fear and lust and humiliation.

“Anything else?” Tony asks.

Bruce shakes his head, but says, “I know there is. I just don’t know it yet.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Tony says, and leans slightly away to run his hand along the taut muscle of the inside of Bruce’s right thigh. “Right now, I’m so ready to take you apart that the rest of it can wait. Are you ready?”

“I’m in a weird place,” Bruce admits. “Down, but not very far. I want it, though, if you want to use the pain to take me down.”

Tony stands, looking down at Bruce where his arms are outstretched and his knees are bent and bound down, exposing the tender skin inside his thighs. “You can knock against the wall if you need to tap out,” Tony tells him. “Right now, a couple of other things,” he says, and circles around the foot of the bed again. 

Bruce watches him, and isn’t entirely surprised to see Tony pluck a riding crop from the hooks on the door of the closet. He bends to find something else, and then rises, something leather in his hands. Then Tony’s back is blocking Bruce’s view, and he waits for Tony to turn back around.

“Close your eyes,” Tony says, still facing away. “If I can’t blindfold you, I need to be able to trust you to close your eyes when I tell you to, Bruce.”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce says hoarsely, and closes his eyes. He feels Tony’s weight come down on the left side of the bed this time. After only a moment, Tony’s slick fingers slide along Bruce’s crack. Bruce lets out a shuddering sound and feels his whole body go lax as Tony slips a finger inside him.

“Good, be easy for me,” Tony murmurs, and Bruce’s face burns, but he does his best to do it, let himself be open, and Tony slides another finger into him, burning, but it’s only a moment before Tony twists his hand around and slides his fingertips along Bruce’s prostate. Bruce moans, loud and wanting, and Tony says, “Just like that, Bruce, let me in, all the way in.” There is another cool stream of lube dripping down Tony’s fingers and pooling at Bruce’s hole, and before Bruce can even anticipate another finger, Tony’s fingers slide free and something thick and cool replaces them. 

Bruce’s body shakes with humiliation, but he doesn’t resist and isn’t surprised at all; he’d just finished telling Tony this. It stretches cruelly as Tony presses it in hard, until Bruce’s hole gives in with a hot stretch, and Tony is pushing it into Bruce, murmuring, “Good, just take it, do you know there are tears on your face? Do you know how it looks, spreading you open, keeping you stretched out?” Bruce can hardly stand to hear about it, and does nothing but breathe out raggedly once the thing is seated fully inside him, his hole closing tight around the narrow place near the base. Bruce hadn’t even realized it was a buttplug, not with the ridge of the head and the length, and he squirms just enough to discover that it’s positioned to press against his prostate without a lot of movement on his part.

He can’t tell if he’s desperately humiliated, or if he’s just desperate to find out what Tony will do, but either way he is desperate. He feels tears leaking from behind his closed lids, but he doesn’t do anything else, just waits for Tony. Tony bumps a knee up against the base of the plug, and Bruce sucks in a breath at the way it moves inside him, but otherwise just lets Tony do whatever he’s going to do.

Tony slips a hand under Bruce’s balls, his touch light, but Bruce recognizes this, the sack slid under and around to protect them. This time, though, a thick leather sheath is drawn down the length of his cock, tight enough and smooth enough inside to make Bruce’s back arch as much as it can. “Don’t even think about coming,” Tony says sharply, and delivers a slap to Bruce’s cock that doesn’t actually do anything for Bruce’s restraint. Bruce groans, his hips jerking a little, and Tony says, “Who would have guessed you’d be such a fucking whore for it, Bruce.”

Humiliating sizzles at the base of Bruce’s brain, but he can’t be surprised, he had told Tony this, too, after all.

“Maybe it’s just touch deprivation, and you’d take what anyone would give you, but I think you’ve been a whore for it all this time. I think you’ve just been waiting for someone to recognize it, and use you like this.”

Tony’s lips brush his right cheek. “Don’t lie to me,” he murmurs, breath hot. “You want a lot of things, you like a lot of things, but really you need to be used by someone that will do anything they want to you.”

Bruce’s throat seems locked up tight, and Tony reaches down and swats at his cock again. It hardly hurts, encased in protective leather, but it’s a dull thud of sensation anyway.

“Tell me,” Tony repeats.

“Not anyone,” Bruce pants, a little agonized at the admission, but truthful. “I’ve had fantasies, but none of that was ever real enough. It had to be someone who knows everything and was still willing to touch me. It had to be you.”

“Almost anyone on the team could have done this for you,” Tony tells him. “Coulson maybe even better than me.”

“You were the first person to touch me without flinching,” Bruce says. “On the helicarrier. You weren’t even scared.”

Tony kisses his cheek. “Open your mouth. I’m going to make you scream for me.”

Bruce opens his mouth, and Tony slides a thick, wide gag inside, pressing Bruce’s tongue down and filling up the rest of his mouth. He feels Tony buckling it around the back of his head. Bruce feels like he could come if Tony just brushed his fingers along his cock, despite the leather encasing it.

“You can open your eyes,” Tony says. Bruce does, aware that he’s still tearing a little. Tony kisses his left eyebrow. “This is going to hurt so much,” Tony tells him. Bruce, unable to think what else to do, just nods.

Tony draws back down the bed, standing on the right. The riding crop is in his hand, and he’s leaning a little forward to slide his hands along the exposed undersides of Bruce’s arms. “I don’t want to hit you in the face. At least not on accident. So I want you turn to face the left right now.”

Bruce’s heart is racing, and though he’s never been struck where Tony intends to strike him, he’s absolutely sure it’s going to burn like fire. He turns his head, his only regret that he can’t see, and the riding crop snaps along the underside of his bicep. Bruce arches in surprise and pain, and shouts, the sound harsh even behind the gag. The plug inside Bruce shifts, and when he manages to relax back onto the bed, it bumps roughly against his prostate, making him cry out again, this time more softly. 

Tony strikes again without warning, another searingly painful stripe against the underside of his bicep, and Bruce jerks and writhes, skin tingling all over with pain and the anticipation of more pain. The plug doesn’t shift this time, and Bruce doesn’t try to make it. He takes another several fast, vicious blows from the crop that feel like they might be bleeding, and then Tony shifts back and lays another dozen sharp lines of pain across the thin skin across the underside of his forearm. 

Bruce does scream, at the last, and hears himself restrained that way, and he shudders and the plug drags across his prostate, and he moans almost soundlessly. 

He is desperately overheated, sweat beading on his face and his chest, and his cock is desolate in its protective sleeve.

“Scream for me again,” Tony says, and shifts back to bring the tip of the crop across Bruce’s cheek, and Bruce does scream, jerking a little in surprise and fear, aching with want. “Okay, Bruce,” Tony says. “I’m done with your arm. You can look back.”

Bruce does it, slowly, a little dazedly. He turns his face helplessly, just looking at the evenly spaced stripes that work their way down from bicep to wrist, and they seem so small for the pain to have been so big. His gaze slips to Tony, who is smiling at him. “You really will take anything,” Tony says, his voice deep, but a little astonished sounding. “You didn’t limit me at all, except for the bondage, which is all you really need. Other than that, you don’t _have_ limits. I can do whatever I want.” He steps in close and tips Bruce’s chin up. Bruce makes a small noise that must seem almost meaningless through the gag, but Tony says, “I know you want to see. It’s just for the first few strokes.”

Bruce gusts out a breath, the base of his spine twisting wires at being understood like that, at being _known_.

The crop whistles before it strikes across Bruce’s collarbones, so sharp that he screams immediately, bucks helplessly, and Tony doesn’t even pause. He brings the crop down with a crack just below the first blow, and Bruce screams and shudders and the plug inside him shifts until Bruce rocks his hips a little, half expecting to be chastised, but unable to help it. Tony doesn’t say anything, however, just moves the crop down lower, twice in quick succession, both blows slicing across his nipples and Bruce screams and jerks his head from side to side. Tony pauses long enough to slip the extra pillow under Bruce’s head, though Bruce has no idea why until he realizes he can clearly see the marks of the crop across his upper chest, and that Tony somehow knows Bruce will want to see the rest of them being laid.

Bruce whines, belly writhing at the way the marks look against his skin, and then Tony is swinging again, and Bruce can’t make himself look away from the hot and narrow concentration on Tony’s face as the crop slaps against the bottoms of his pectorals, forcing another scream from Bruce’s throat.

Tony is sweating, too, his cock thick between his thighs, and his eyes are fixed on Bruce with complete focus. “Fast this time,” he says, without looking away from Bruce’s chest, and then his arm is a blur as he brings the crop down again and again, and Bruce can’t watch him through his tears, and with the way his head is thrown back, and he’s screaming, continuous except when he has to drag in a breath, screaming while Tony works his way down to the bottoms of Bruce’s ribs, and then reverses his course all the way back up to Bruce’s nipples.

There is a pause, and Bruce blinks tears out of his eyes and tries to still his rocking hips, where the plug seems to have become bigger, taking up more space in his body. He looks for Tony because he can’t help it, Tony is who he needs. Tony is wiping his brow with the back of one hand, and clenching his fist around the handle of the crop with the other. He glances up to see Bruce watching him, his gaze dark and hungry.

“Now your cock,” he says, matter of fact, and Bruce hitches in air in staggering little sips, terrified and euphoric, cocking his head up to watch until Tony fixes the pillow behind his head, a little moment of care during the pain that clenches at Bruce’s chest. Tony strokes a hand through Bruce’s sweaty hair. “You’re perfect, Bruce. You’re a whore for the pain as much as the pleasure. You’re amazing.”

Bruce finally manages to take a deep breath, and he watches Tony as he shifts a little and raises his arm, and the flurry of blows are fast and sharp as knives, even through the leather, and Bruce screams out equal parts pain and pleasure, and if Tony had hit just a little harder, or just a few more blows, Bruce would have come shuddering from the pain. As it is, his body goes limp, though his cock stays hard as diamonds, and he’s half-crying, his hips jerking slightly up as though to invite more punishment.

“It’s all right,” Tony says, husky. “I’m not done with you yet, Bruce.”

Before Bruce can pull himself together, Tony’s crop bites down on the tender skin of his inner thigh, and Bruce shrieks with pain, and doesn’t stop for what seems like a small eternity, as Tony doesn’t pause or stop, just cuts the crop against the whole length of Bruce’s inner thigh, a place where Bruce has never been hit, and would never have imagined it would have been so excruciating. The plug inside him only makes it more confusing, the pleasure of the pain mixed up with the pressure and pleasure inside him, and Bruce can’t untangle his mind enough to figure out how to deal with either one or the other.

When Tony is done with his thigh, Bruce sucks in hoarse, harsh breaths, aware that it is probably not done, that Bruce’s other arm and thigh are still unmarked, but he’s reeling so badly he can’t do anything but try to steady himself somehow.

Tony bends and licks the welts on Bruce’s thigh, and Bruce moans at the slick heat and the drag of pain. 

He’s unprepared for Tony to climb up onto the bed and jerk the plug painfully free of Bruce’s body, and still further unprepared for Tony to drag his ass up with both hands and shove his cock into Bruce hard, a little rough without lube, but the plug had been wet enough. Bruce whines his encouragement as best as he can, twisting his hips up to meet Tony’s thrusts, his whole right side raw with red pain, his ass feeling swollen and too tight for Tony’s cock, his cheek aching with the blow he’d taken to his face, and his cock absolutely ready to do anything for Tony, anything Tony wants to do, ready even if Tony just fucks him and plugs him again, ready if Tony doesn’t let him come and just moves on to his left side.

Tony was right, Bruce is absolutely willing, he’s a whore for all that Tony will give him, he’s willing to suffer whatever Tony is willing to give, he just wants these touches, he just wants the look on Tony’s face, the understanding that Tony could not wait longer, that Bruce had been so good for him, he needs that, he’ll do anything for it, his cock is agonizing, and it doesn’t matter.

Tony snarls, bent almost double over Bruce, sweat from his face flicking into Bruce’s face, and Bruce just groans for Tony, makes it loud and obvious and Tony says, “Scream for me, Bruce,” and jerks the sheath off of Bruce’s cock, and Bruce does scream, sharp and long as he comes so hard it spikes pain into his groin, while Tony growls above him, snapping his hips until his whole body goes taut and some of the raw feeling inside Bruce melts away at the slick of Tony’s come in his ass.

Bruce falls back, exhausted, and is barely aware of Tony’s hands untying his thighs, until he feel the lessening of the tension in the tendons in his thighs, though Tony leaves the leather around Bruce’s left in place. It’s loose, just lying across the bed, not tied to the frame, but it’s still there, like a promise. He leaves both of Bruce’s arms bound, though, flat on the bed. They aren’t causing him any discomfort, so Bruce doesn’t mind.

Tony takes the gag off last, but says, “No talking yet, okay. Just lie back and let me think.”

Bruce is happy to do that, and Tony drapes himself unselfconsciously along Bruce’s left side, his cheek resting on Bruce’s welted pectoral, his goatee scratching at the welts in pleasant discomfort.

Eventually, Tony says, “Bruce, are you disappointed?” His voice is neutral.

“No, Tony,” Bruce says honestly.

“Where are you sitting at right now?”

“Zero, Tony,” Bruce says.

“It doesn’t matter to you that I stopped to fuck you halfway through?” Tony asks.

“No, Tony,” Bruce says.

“Can you tell me why it doesn’t matter, Bruce?”

“You were done with me,” Bruce says. “It wasn’t halfway through. It was just until you were done, Tony.”

“But you knew I meant to mark your other side,” Tony says.

“Yes, I knew, Tony,” Bruce says.

“How does it make you feel, that I didn’t?” Tony asks, but carefully.

Bruce considers that for a moment. He’s down enough that words are slippery. “A little pleased that I was good for you so much that you wanted to fuck me more than you wanted to mark my other side.”

Bruce feels Tony ease a little against him. Tony runs a hand roughly along the underside of Bruce’s right arm, and Bruce shudders.

“Sometimes people say that they want whatever I want, Bruce,” Tony says gently. “Unless you mean it, I don’t want you to say it.”

“I will never lie to you, Tony,” Bruce says easily. “If I need more, I’ll tell you.”

“You know that doesn’t mean you’ll always get it,” Tony says, but it sounds like he’s smiling.

“I know, Tony. Sometimes it’s good that way, too.”

They fall asleep that way, and when Bruce wakes up, his arm is asleep under the weight of Tony’s head. Tony is flushed warm with sleep, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

Bruce’s whole right side is striped with agony, not even taking into consideration his chest. It occurs to him that if Natasha has asked him to touch it now, he would let her. The knowledge seems to open up some tight place in his chest, and he spends a few moments reeling out a moment like that in his head, like a movie.

With his arms still bound, he wonders if Tony plans to take this opportunity for some long-term bondage. Bruce shivers a little at the idea, but he’s not opposed. Mostly he waits for Tony to wake up, drowsing a little himself, unworried about what will come next.

JARVIS says, “Captain Rogers is at the door, sir,” which is what brings Bruce out of his drowse. Tony startles, and pushes his arms up under him to lever himself upright. He glances at Bruce, his eyes soft and his face a little flushed with sleep, and smiles a little sweetly. Then he runs his hand from Bruce’s collarbones to his belly, and Bruce grates out a soft sound of pain, and if anything, Tony’s smile goes a little sweeter.

“Did he say what he wanted, JARVIS?” Tony asks.

“I believe he feels that you and Dr. Banner should eat something, sir,” JARVIS says drily. “He has brought a tray.”

Tony snorts. “Let him in.”

Steve comes in, not hesitating exactly, but slowly enough to give them plenty of time to tell him to go away if they want to. When they don’t, he picks up the pace, and Bruce watches him breeze right past the knee line without even acknowledging its existence. Bruce wonders if Tony uses the knee line with Steve. 

Steve is carrying a huge tray, the kind of tray only a super soldier could carry. Not only that, but he’s carrying a small table in the other hand, which he sits on the floor by the bed, so he can put the tray on it. He does all of this with easy agility, but his eyes are on Bruce almost entirely, skipping up the welts on his arm and chest, checking out Bruce’s cock without seeming to be able to help himself -- he blushes, but he looks -- and then looking back up to where Bruce is still bound to the bed.

“You’ve been in here for hours,” Steve says. He’s looking at the mark from the crop on Bruce’s face; Bruce can tell just by how wide his eyes are.

Bruce smiles reassuringly.

“You missed dinner,” Steve says, and his eyes skip to Bruce’s arm again to travel the expanse of his marks, and Bruce cocks his thigh almost without thought, so that Steve can see everything, his gaze ending up on Bruce’s face again.

“Am I in the room?” Tony asks, sounding extremely amused.

Steve blushes hotly. “Do you think I could draw him like this, Tony?” he asks hopefully.

Tony gives Steve a long and thoughtful look that Steve stands still under, like he’s used to those kinds of looks from Tony, or like. Or, like Steve had been a soldier, of course, and is used to being still and waiting.

“Bruce,” Tony says slowly. “Can I finish your other side, and let Steve draw you like that?”

Bruce understands that Tony means with Steve in the room with them, while he does it, and he doesn’t really have to think about it. Steve feels safe to him. “Yes, Tony,” he says.

“Steve,” Tony says. “Get something from the bathroom to clean Bruce up with.” 

Steve goes at once, and Tony rolls off the side of the bed, then circles the bed to the table. “Do you need to eat now?” Tony asks.

“No, but I could use a drink, Tony,” Bruce says.

“Steve brought half the kitchen,” Tony says, amused. “Any preferences.”

“Some kind of fruit juice?” Bruce asks. “I feel like I might need the sugar, Tony.”

Tony pours something, and then incongruously opens his bedside table. Bruce sees him pull out a straw, and is a little amused at what the contents of Tony’s bedside table must look like. 

“Do I need to let you up?” Tony asks.

“Not if it’s a bendy straw,” Bruce says, and Tony grins a little. He props a couple of pillows under Bruce’s head, and then holds the juice for him, straw bent down at an angle for Bruce to get to easily. Bruce, thirstier than he’d even realizes, drinks down the entire glass of white grape juice, and Tony gets him another, which he drinks part of as well.

“Better?” Tony asks. He’s casually sipping at a beer, but his eyes are on Bruce in almost the same way that Steve’s had been, taking careful inventory of his welts and bruises, though Tony’s eyes are hotter, not really anything like Steve’s wide-eyed and fascinated perusal. 

“Yes, thank you, Tony,” Bruce says.

Tony leans over a little and runs his fingertips over Bruce’s welted thigh, which stings unbearably and makes Bruce shiver. “Your thigh welted like a dream, Bruce,” Tony says throatily. Bruce’s cock jerks; it’s already hard, and he’s not precisely sure when that had happened, though he thinks it might have been while Steve was looking him over. His cheeks heat at the idea, but there’s a weird kind of hope attached to the idea, too. If Steve can watch, maybe Steve can touch, and if Steve can touch, maybe… 

“I should have asked, but do _you_ feel like you’re up for another round, Steve notwithstanding? Your arms are still okay?” Tony asks.

“My arms are fine,” Bruce says. “And yes, I can take it. I’m not down very far, but I’m relaxed, and it won’t take much.”

“I’ll want to sheath your cock again,” Tony says, a tinge of warning in his tone. “With the force I’ll be using on your thigh, I don’t want to risk hitting you there.”

“Okay, Tony,” Bruce agrees easily. “Will you… I’d like it if you cropped me there, again, through the sheath.” Bruce’s face is hot, but he ignores it. “It was really good. Thudding and cutting at once.”

Tony smiles widely. “Steve will probably hyperventilate, but I think I can manage that. You know I might have to handle him a little, to get him through this? It’s not something he’s seen.”

“It’s okay. Once I’m in the right headspace, waiting has never been a problem for me, Tony. Are you planning on using the gag?” Bruce tries to keep his tone neutral, but he wants the gag.

“Yeah,” Tony says, and runs just his fingertips down Bruce’s chest, but hard, digging into his skin. Bruce arches into it, helpless to stop himself, and Tony smiles. “The kind of screaming you do… I want to hear it without the gag sometime, but I think it might scare Steve.”

Steve emerges from the bathroom with a pair of washcloths, one soapy, one just wet. He hesitates a little, like he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to do it himself or hand it off to Tony, but Tony makes a little ‘be my guest gesture,’ and Steve carefully circles around the table. 

“Okay?” he asks Bruce anxiously.

“It’s okay,” Bruce reassures him, though he’s tense a little, but he has to _try_. He can’t just assume that he’ll magically know when it’s okay for someone other than Tony to touch him. And Steve has touched him before, at least once, and it had been okay. Steve leans in and scrubs at the dried come on Bruce’s belly, is a little more careful when he pursues the mess up above Bruce’s navel, where the welts really start, but Bruce just breathes harshly at the rough feel of the soapy cloth. Steve’s hands aren’t actually on him, just the washcloth, but it’s close enough for Bruce to feel that it’s not even hard, and he relaxes. Steve hovers for several long seconds, and Bruce eventually figures out what the problem is. “If my cock is a mess, you can clean there, too,” he says.

He can feel Tony watching them both, and he can see in Steve’s face that he’s just as aware of it, and leery of stepping out of bounds, but Steve slides the rough cloth around the head of Bruce’s cock, carefully not touching him with his bare hands, and then uses the wet washcloth to wipe the soap away. He retreats to the bathroom with them silently, but Bruce hadn’t missed the hard angle of Steve’s cock in his jeans, and is sure Tony hadn’t missed it either.

“He likes the result,” Tony says quietly. “He likes what he sees, but that may just be the artist in him. You’re stunning like this, and it doesn’t surprise me that he wants to draw you. The reality might not be the same, though. You’re sure you’ll be okay if I have to talk him down?”

“I’m sure, Tony,” Bruce says. “Are you going to tie down my right leg again? I… I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep from trying to protect myself with it.”

Tony looks like he’s still considering that when Steve emerges from the bathroom again. “Steve, move the table over closer to the sitting area,” he says. Steve does this easily, and without comment. “Bruce is afraid that when I crop his left side, he’ll try to pull up his right leg to defend himself,” Tony says, clearly talking to Steve, though he’s still looking at Bruce. “How do you feel about holding him down a little?” This time, Bruce is pretty sure Tony is actually talking to both of them.

Steve is looking anxiously at Bruce.

Bruce feels a little sorry for him, so clearly uncertain and unwilling to breach Bruce’s boundaries. “I think it will be okay,” Bruce tells him. “If you want to. If it upsets you, you don’t have to.”

“If you get upset at any point, I want to know that as soon as it happens, Steve,” Tony agrees. “You may like the way he looks now, but you may not like what it takes to make him look like this, and that’s okay. But you have to tell me right away.”

“I… okay,” Steve says, and moves to stand beside Tony on the right side of the bed. 

“I’m going to have to move him a little,” Tony says, and sets about shifting Bruce about a foot to the left, so quickly and methodically that, except for the new coolness of the sheets under his still sore back, Bruce hardly pays attention to it. “Come up on the bed a little, Steve, so you can get a good grip on him. Keep him spread; I want to match the welts on both sides as much as I can.”

Steve’s face goes red, but he shifts carefully onto the bed. Bruce bends his knee outward, exposing his thigh, and Steve’s hands close carefully around his knee and calf. He watches, his eyes absolutely huge, while Tony works the sheath onto Bruce’s cock while Bruce breathes heavily, both at the feeling, and just at the way he can sense Steve watching.

“I don’t want to hit him there by accident,” Tony tells Steve, while he calmly retrieves the riding crop from the other side of the bed, where he’d tossed it before he had shoved his way between Bruce’s thighs to fuck him. “It could cause real damage, not the kind that’s good.”

Bruce wonders about the plug, nervous, and doesn’t have to wonder long. Tony produces it from somewhere, this time making sure Bruce sees what he’s doing -- and also, Bruce thinks, so that Steve sees it -- and slicks it up. Bruce is still wet and loose enough that he only groans a little as Tony works it into him, though he can feel how hot his face is.

“Good, Bruce,” Tony says, and plants a soft kiss on his unmarked thigh. “You’re being so good.”

Bruce, panting a little, might have tried to make some kind of reply, but the riding crop darts out and cracks against his right cheek, jerking a little scream out of him, but also dragging him down so quickly that he can’t catch his breath for several seconds. Steve’s hands clench around Bruce’s knee and calf, but he doesn’t say anything. When Tony produces the gag, Bruce opens for it without protest, and goes a little looser when it’s in place, feeling grounded, feeling the fierce pulse of his cock in the sheath.

Tony moves down to look at Bruce, gaze searching his face, most likely to determine where Bruce is in his subspace. Bruce is good, the smack in the face had dropped him like a stone, and Tony smiles a little wryly, like he knows exactly how well that had worked for him.

Tony comes at him from a different angle this time, almost has to, Bruce guesses, since he’s right handed, but it’s strange anyway, to have Tony disappear somewhere behind Bruce, out of his sight, and then to feel that first deliberate _crack_ of the riding crop against the underside of Bruce’s bicep. Bruce arches and cries out, and the plug inside him shifts and presses hard against his prostate, dragging a muffled moan out of him. Tony brings the crop down again, and Bruce jerks and shouts, a little harder, the pain a bright arc that goes straight to Bruce’s cock. There’s another pause, and Bruce realizes that Tony must be watching Steve, reading him for signs of panic, but when Bruce looks, he sees nothing but wide-eyed fascination on Steve’s face, though his fingertips are drilling a little into Bruce’s knee and calf in a way that will probably leave bruises.

Tony seems to decide that Steve can take it, because when he starts again, it’s like it had been before, quick and merciless, hard enough to make Bruce scream behind the gag, tears on his face almost at once as he shudders under the blows. Bruce had seen his other arm, the careful distance between the marks, about an inch, and it’s not like he doesn’t remember that it had felt like more, but he had somehow forgotten the degree of the pain, how delicate that skin is, because he screams every time the crop lands, his body jerking the way it does, like it’s trying to escape at the same time it’s trying to spread wider, open up more room for Tony to hurt. 

Tony pauses just above his elbow and bends to kiss the corner of Bruce’s eye where tears are still streaming. “You hurt so beautifully, Bruce,” he murmurs, and Bruce hitches in a helpless breath, and realizes his hips are rocking, the plug has somehow gotten pressed so that it nudges continuously at Bruce’s prostate, maybe because he’s swollen at Tony’s rough use of him, but it’s good, he’s good, and Tony’s words twist at his mind and at the tangle of desire in his belly.

“Steve?” Tony asks, clearly a question, and Bruce looks at Steve, had almost, somehow, forgotten Steve, whose pupils are huge, his lower lip red, like he’s been biting at it.

“I’m alright,” he says hoarsely.

Tony takes him at his word, and shifts down a little where Bruce can see him, and Bruce inhales hard when Tony lifts his arm, thinking about last time, how the underside of his forearm had been almost worse than his bicep, and then Tony is whipping the crop down, and Bruce screams and jerks, feels Steve’s hands holding him, feels something low in his belly clench at that, surprising him, and then only feels the rise and fall of Tony’s crop, drawing lines of screaming pain down his arm, drawing actual screams out of Bruce’s open throat that the gag forces into something softer, if no less agonized, drawing his cock up in the sheath, and his balls into twisting knots, drawing tears from his eyes, and it’s almost a shock when Tony stops, and Bruce lays still and trembling, his muscles aching a little with the exertion of pulling against his restraints, fear and want lying heavily over his mind at the knowledge of where Tony will hit next, and how big it will be, and how it will unravel him.

Tony bends and kisses the last welt he had lain, just above Bruce’s wrist, and Bruce shudders. He can hear Steve breathing heavily, his grip still steady on Bruce’s leg. Tony flips the crop out almost lightly, slapping at Bruce’s chest a dozen times or so with next to no force, but with enough of a sting to wake up all of what he had laid down before, forcing Bruce’s back up into a painful arch that pulls at his back as much as his chest, but that he can’t help, can’t help offering it to Tony that way, wouldn’t fight if Tony wanted to really work his chest over again, almost wants him to do it, even though the pain is still sharp enough that he knows Tony would risk breaking skin if he did.

He’s so caught up in the lines of pain on his chest that Tony’s crop on his cock takes him by surprise, and Bruce jerks violently -- he distantly feels that Steve is actually having to hold him down for the first time -- and screams, and then just jerks his hips up helplessly into each blow, sucking in harsh breaths between screams, and Bruce is close, so close, his whole body is taut on the edge of it, and Tony stops, like before, and Bruce chokes out a desperate sob and goes limp in the bonds and in Steve’s hands and just chokes out tears of want for at least a minute, hips still jerking a little helplessly.

“I thought you weren’t going to hit him there,” Steve says, voice shaky.

“Not on bare skin,” Tony says. “Not with this, anyway.”

“But he… he… would let you?” Steve wants to know.

“Yes, but it could hurt him. Just because he’d let me doesn’t mean I should. I hurt him because he wants it, he loves it, but I take care of him, too, Steve. I make sure he doesn’t get more than he can take.” Tony’s voice is calm, but Bruce can hear the thrum of desire in it. “Are you still okay, Steve?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “It feels like I should feel… bad for him, or worried for him, but…” Steve doesn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence.

“But it’s obvious that he wants it,” Tony says. “And I hope it’s obvious that I’m taking care of him. You don’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to worry. It’s my job to make sure no one needs to worry.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “I just didn’t know.”

“I’m going to do this thigh now. It’s a lot for him to take, so make sure you have a good grip on him,” Tony says.

Steve’s hands tighten on Bruce’s leg, and Bruce moans a little, that unexpected swell of pleasure, and he feels more than sees Tony pause, his eyes still teary enough that his vision isn’t dependable.

“Bruce, do you like it when Steve holds you down?” Tony asks, his voice a little hard and a little silky at the same time. “Does it get you off, knowing he’s watching, having him make you be still?”

Bruce can’t answer of course, and more tears spill down his cheeks because he isn’t sure if there’s a right answer, but he whines out something that is meant to be affirmative anyway because he wouldn’t lie to Tony anyway, but like this, when he is here, he can’t even think of lying to Tony.

Tony breathes out heavily, and then leans in to brush his lips across Bruce’s earlobe, murmuring, “Good, Bruce, good boy, letting him touch you, letting him watch you take it like this. You’re so good for me, doing exactly what I want, letting me decide what to let him see.”

Bruce chokes out a little sob, and Tony’s fingers drag through his hair, gentle and almost tender, and he slides his thumb through the tears on Bruce’s cheek. Bruce tips his face against Tony’s hand, unable to stop it, and Tony slips his thumb over the welt on his cheek, making Bruce shiver into the caress.

“Almost done,” Tony murmurs. “Just a little more for me, Bruce.”

Bruce shudders, he remembers his shock at how much it had hurt across the inside of his other thigh, even if he can’t actually quantify it in terms with his other hurts, but he nods, too, because Tony seems to want that.

“Good boy, Bruce,” Tony says again, his voice harder this time, without that silky edge. 

Bruce hears the whistle and closes his eyes, and shrieks at the line of fire Tony had drawn along his thigh. He can feel his other leg jerking against Steve’s grip, feels Steve’s grip tighten, and he moans, and then screams again at the next blow, bucking pointlessly, he doesn’t want to get away but he can’t help it, and then Tony is dragging the screams out of him without pause, no time to even breathe as the crop slices across his skin, each strike bleeding into the next, Bruce’s cock absolutely aching with need, he wants so much, the skin of his thigh a canvas of white and cutting pain that Bruce is straining up into as much as he is against it.

He’s hardly even aware when it stops, he’s so full of need, and the plug makes it impossible to keep still, and he is barely aware of Steve saying, “Can I touch him there?”

“Bruce?” Tony is asking, and Bruce is trying to hear them, but he’s outside his mind, and it doesn’t seem important, but something must happen because he feels Steve’s hand on his thigh, bigger than Tony’s, so hot against his flaming skin that Bruce chokes out another little scream, and then the gag is falling away, Bruce hadn’t even felt Tony’s hands on it, and Bruce is immediately begging.

“Please, Tony, please I need to come, will you fuck me, just, can you just touch me, you said I was good, please, please,” and Tony hand’s are abruptly tugging at the sheath around his cock.

“You’ll wait until it’s off,” Tony says, hard, pausing for Bruce to nod frantic agreement, and then drawing it off and away so that Bruce’s cock is lying across his belly, a line of agony as real as those that Tony had drawn across his thigh.

“Please,” Bruce begs. “Please, Tony, please, please.”

“Just wait, Bruce,” Tony says, shifting up so that he has a knee on the bed, and then, “Hold him down tight, Steve.” Bruce thinks Tony is going to fuck him -- Bruce would agree to let Steve fuck him without a second thought -- but Tony brings up the crop again and Bruce feels his eyes go wide and his body go still, though he makes no objection at all.

Tony barely taps him with the crop, just with the wide, flat end, twice and Bruce knows he’s going to come, and then again and Bruce arches and wails, pleasure knotting in the center of his brain at having his cock cropped, and Tony doesn’t stop immediately, slaps his cock lightly with the crop all the way through it, Steve’s grip on him so tight Bruce’s hips can’t even jerk up into it except in tiny little increments, until Bruce grates out a desperate sound and goes loose, his body absolutely relaxed, his mind a distant hum, aware of Tony telling Steve it’s okay to let Bruce go, and then of Tony tying down his right leg again for some reason, but unable to even grasp at the idea of engaging with any of it. 

“Now is the time to draw him, if you want to,” Tony says, and Bruce feels the bed shift, but it’s unimportant. “Bruce,” Tony says gently, and touches his face. Bruce tries to focus on Tony, but it’s hard to focus, and if it were anyone but Tony he wouldn’t try at all. “Bruce, are you okay like this for a little while?”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce manages, his voice a hoarse and slurring wreck.

“I want to fuck you when you’re like this,” Tony tells him. “When you’re so stoned on pain you can’t see.”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce agrees, would say yes to anything Tony wants.

“This time Steve is going to draw you,” Tony says. “I’ll do it next time. This time I just want you to stay down for a little while, okay?”

“Yes, Tony,” Bruce agrees.

Tony makes a grating sound that makes heat echo distantly in Bruce’s belly, and then climbs up onto the bed and straddles him.

Bruce watches Tony wrap his hand around his cock and lean over Bruce, his breathing harsh, and it’s quick, like Tony is too far gone to make it last. Bruce is too enthralled at the sight of it to do anything but watch, and it’s only a minute or so before Tony’s come is splashing against the welts on Bruce’s chest, a little hot or salty enough to make Bruce moan a little, and Tony groans, “Yes, Bruce, God, you’re so good,” as he milks his come out onto Bruce’s skin.

Bruce would like to lick Tony’s hand clean, but Tony just swings off the bed, and Steve is waiting, drawing pad in hand, his eyes still dark with arousal, but also with something else now, too, something a little like the way Bruce feels when he needs to go down.

Steve positions himself on the end of the bed and for a long time, Bruce doesn’t have to do anything at all. He’s comfortable and uncomfortable, he hurts and feels amazing, Tony is a little out of sight above him, but brushing his fingers through Bruce’s hair often enough so that Bruce knows he’s still there, and Steve’s presence is a kind of comfort, too, Steve who will help hold him if he needs it, Steve who can touch Bruce, and Bruce is not afraid.

Bruce lets himself have this, and it’s been good with Tony, and he’s had this with Tony, but not this long expanse of it, not this deep well of absolute contentment, the satisfaction of having his body so well used that his mind doesn’t need to be engaged at all.

Bruce knows that time is different like this, and it feels like he’s been perfect and lucid and content for hours by the time Steve says, “Okay,” in a soft voice. “His face like this,” Steve says, but doesn’t finish the sentence and Bruce is beyond curiosity.

“I know,” Tony says, though. “Let me see.”

Steve hands the drawing pad over to Tony, and he sucks in a surprised breath. “Jesus, Steve,” he says softly. “This is…”

“He was so still and perfect,” Steve says. “I’ve never had anyone who could do that for me.”

“I know most of the team has sat for you,” Tony says.

“Not like this,” Steve says. “People move, they twitch, they tilt their faces, they’re not like this. He’s perfect.”

Warmth blooms in Bruce’s chest.

“Bruce, do you want to see?” Tony asks, but his voice is low and soft, like he doesn’t want to draw Bruce away from what he has. But Bruce does want to see, and thoughts are swirling back in, not important thoughts, but enough that he feel like he can talk again.

“Yes, please, Tony,” he says hoarsely.

“Hand me the glass with the straw in it, Steve,” Tony says, and Tony holds it for Bruce while he drinks, relieving some of the rawness from his throat. Tony passes the glass back to Steve, and then holds the sketchbook at an angle that Bruce can see it at.

Bruce recognizes himself, the shape of his body, the shape of his face, his unruly hair, but it’s still a little like looking at someone else entirely. Steve is incredibly talented. Bruce can see the stripes on his arms and the marks on his face, the lines across his thighs, but he can see the look on Bruce’s face, too, the ease there, the contentment, and he’s fascinated. He turns to look at Tony.

“I look like this?” he asks, because Tony will know.

“You look even better,” Tony tells him. “But yeah, Bruce, it’s a nearly perfect likeness. You look like this. This is why I do what I do. To have you like this.”

Bruce shivers a little, and Tony laughs a little. “And also to fuck you until you forget how to talk,” he adds, and Bruce smiles a little, but his eyes drift back to the drawing. Seeing it like this, Bruce is a little astounded. That he could even be like that, like he is in the drawing.

“I want to touch Steve,” Bruce hears himself say, a little surprised at it once it comes out of his mouth.

“Do you want me to let you up, or do you want Steve to come to you?” Tony asks. He doesn’t sound like either option bothers him.

“I’d like to stay, but you gave me all that juice,” Bruce says sheepishly, and Tony laughs.

“I can tie you down again later,” he says, a whisper of a promise, and gets to work untying Bruce’s hands and then his thighs. Bruce stretches, feeling strange and uncoordinated. Tony helps him ease himself upright. Steve is just watching from the foot of the bed, waiting to see what Bruce will do. Bruce manages to get up on his knees and fumbles toward the end of the bed, and sort of collapses against Steve, his hands groping for purchase. Steve catches him easily, his hands mindful of Bruce’s hurts, and Bruce wants to tell him he doesn’t need to worry about that, but isn’t sure that Steve is ready to hear that Bruce doesn’t mind if Steve hurts him. He ends up sort of curled on one hip, one of the places where he’s the least sore, and leaning into Steve’s chest, with Steve’s arms carefully around him.

“Thank you,” Bruce says, and Steve’s hands tighten on him, pressing against some sore places inadvertently.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says immediately. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for?” he admits after another few seconds.

“For the drawing, and for holding me, and because it feels good to touch you,” Bruce says, aware that he’s babbling a little but not really able to help it. “It’s good, you don’t make me feel like you might let go.” Steve’s arms tighten this time, pressing Bruce against his front, and Bruce’s chest and arms sing with pain.

“He’s still down,” Tony says mildly. “He might not be sure what he’s saying.”

“So, I should be careful, touching him after this?” Steve asks, and if anything, his arms curl Bruce into him more tightly, almost all of Bruce’s front pressed against the material of Steve’s shirt. Bruce can feel his breathing going quick, his cock stirring a little, but it doesn’t bother him.

“No,” Tony says. “He won’t lie to you, or say anything he doesn’t mean. He just doesn’t have a whole lot of a filter, so what he says is very close to what he actually thinks.” There is a pause. “You probably don’t understand because you usually say what you think, Steve, but it’s different for Bruce. He doesn’t usually let himself have what he thinks about having, so he doesn’t say anything about wanting it. Also, you should probably know that you’re working him up right now. I know you don’t mean to, but he’s got a lot of endorphins in his system, and you’re holding him pretty close.”

Steve’s arms go looser and Bruce makes a dissatisfied sound he can’t quite keep back. He hears Tony laugh quietly.

“It’s okay that you are,” Tony tells Steve. “It’s even a good sign that you can, for him. It means he can respond to people other than me. You’re not taking advantage.” Steve’s arms firm up again and Bruce relaxes against him. “And he asked for you, first, Steve. If someone was going to look or be involved, he asked that it be you until he’s sure he can deal with it.”

Bruce can’t see Steve smiling, but is sure he is anyway.

“You guys really should eat,” Steve says eventually.

“Hold on,” Tony says, and the bed dips behind Bruce. “Bruce, get up on your knees.” Bruce does, and feels the shift of the plug inside him; he muffles a little moan into Steve’s shoulder, and Steve shudders a little. “Hold him just like that,” Tony says, and Steve’s arms tighten a little more, Bruce’s chest a red, warm blaze of pain against the heat of Steve’s body, and Bruce is sure he’s hard again, and doesn’t care. Tony is easy, pulling the plug out of Bruce, but Bruce still whines a little, and Steve swallows audibly. “Okay,” Tony says, and Steve sets Bruce away from him. Bruce goes -- he’s close to being in his right mind, still down, still under two, but thinking again, some -- when he’s guided away, but leans in to plant a kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

Tony laughs and Steve blushes a little, but Bruce just settles on the bed where Tony tells him to settle, and Steve brings the table over again. 

“Most of it is good cold,” Steve says. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be ready for it. But if you want hot food, I can manage that, too.”

Tony makes a sandwich and passes it to Bruce. “This should be fine,” he says, as Bruce swallows his sandwich in under a minute, at which point Tony is handing him another sandwich. Bruce tries to be a little more civilized about this one, but it still doesn’t last long. Tony hands him a glass with a straw in it, and Bruce grins a little. Steve eats a little, but mostly the three of them are silent, Bruce still down far enough that he feels no need to talk, and he’s guessing Tony and Steve will want to talk about things when Bruce isn’t sitting right here listening. He doesn’t mind; he understands.

“The rest of the team,” Steve says finally. Tony looks as Steve, but Bruce is thinking that he kind of has to piss, and is only half listening. “They’re probably still waiting.” Steve sounds awkward. “I think they want to see him when he’s…”

“JARVIS, where is the rest of the team?” Tony asks.

“They are in the penthouse sitting area, sir,” JARVIS says.

Tony looks thoughtful.

Bruce says, “I have to use the restroom, Tony,” and Tony gestures Bruce to go ahead, Bruce dropping to his knees off the side of the bed, getting to his feet only at the cool tile of the bathroom floor. He goes and washes his hands, and stops abruptly, still on his feet, because Tony is waiting for him at the bathroom door.

“How would you feel about letting the team see your new marks?” Tony asks him. “I know you’re still down, Bruce; you don’t have to try to interact with them if you don’t feel like you can yet.”

Bruce doesn’t mind, maybe can’t mind yet, but he asks, “Do you want me to, Tony?”

Tony’s smile is wry. “You’re like the best new toy I’ve ever gotten, Bruce. I want to show everyone everything you can do.”

“Then it’s fine with me, Tony,” Bruce says. Tony gazes watchfully at him for a few seconds, and then just nods. “Okay, but any time you start to feel overwhelmed, all you have to do is say.”

“Okay, Tony,” Bruce agrees.

“The penthouse is tile outside the bedroom,” Tony says. “Stay on your feet and save your knees.” Even as he’s saying it, Tony has him by the elbow and is guiding him toward the bedroom door. Bruce is still a little unsteady on his feet, so Tony’s hand on his elbow is a comfort.

The main room of the penthouse is bright after the low light in Tony’s bedroom, and Bruce blinks a little at it. Tony leads him across the tile and past the kitchen area, bar, and the new holographic pool table, and into the recessed sitting area. 

Steve is hovering a little behind and beside Bruce, as though concerned for his balance, which proves to be fortunate, because when Bruce tries to take the three steps down onto the carpeted floor, he reels a little, and it takes both Steve and Tony to catch and steady him.

“Look at him,” Clint breathes, his eyes fixed on Bruce’s face. “I don’t think I would have believed he could look like that.”

“Beautiful,” Coulson agrees, with something like avarice in his gaze, something that clenches tight in the pit of Bruce’s belly.

“Christ, Stark, his thighs,” Natasha says, and a moment she’s on her knees in front of Bruce. Without thought, Bruce twists his hip a little so she can get a better look. “Gorgeous. And precise.” She gives Tony an approving look. “I’m impressed.”

“His arms are similarly marked,” Thor muses, his voice lower than his usual boom. “The spacing is remarkable.” He looks at Bruce. “Will you spread them and show us?” he asks.

Bruce spreads his arms, turning them slightly up, the way that Tony had had them bound.

For a few seconds, no one says anything.

Bruce says, “If you can be slow, and just one at a time,” he says carefully. “I think I can let you touch me.”

Tony glances at him, brow a little furrowed, but doesn’t object.

Natasha reaches for his thigh, exaggeratedly slowly, and runs her hand up from his knee almost to his balls. Bruce makes a small pain sound he can’t keep back, and she makes a pleased noise in response, and Bruce’s belly tightens even further. She runs her hand down the same thigh, pauses and looks up at Bruce’s face for a moment, then looks at Tony. 

“If he doesn’t object, I don’t,” Tony says. 

Natasha scrapes her nails lightly along one of the welts, and Bruce’s breath rushes out of him. She has actual nails, not like Tony’s, which are cut to the quick, and Bruce says, “Your nails feel good,” without meaning to. He cuts a glance at Tony, unsure if he’s allowed, and Tony grins a little, just the sight enough to ease Bruce back down. 

“Her nails do feel good,” Tony agrees.

She hesitates, and then drags her nails lengthwise down across the whole line of welts, and Bruce’s hips arch a little. “Beautiful, Bruce,” she breathes. “Just beautiful. Thank you for letting me touch you.”

No one else moves forward, and Bruce isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or maybe a little hurt, but Steve says, “They’re waiting to be invited,” and presses a hand to the small of Bruce’s back. “None of us will touch you until we’re invited until you’re ready for that, Bruce.” It has the sound of a promise.

“I…” Bruce says uncertainly, and is relieved when Tony takes over.

“I think Clint is going to wet himself, and none of us want that, so come on,” Tony says, and Clint leaps down from where he was perched on the arm of one of the sofas and moves close, but not so close that Bruce feels concerned about it.

“Both hands okay, Bruce?” Clint asks, uncommonly gentle, like he had been before, when they had come upstairs, something different enough than he usually is as to be remarkable. 

“Whatever you want,” Bruce says, and Clint smiles, eyes crinkled at the corners.

Clint splays both hands across Bruce’s chest and drags them downward, pressing hard enough to make Bruce arch and go to his toes, and actually cry out a little at his rough hands against Bruce’s tender nipples. He runs them up Bruce’s chest again, this time careful of his nipples, and just runs his thumbs roughly along both collarbones, where the welts start. Bruce starts to bite back a moan, realizes that there’s no reason, and lets it tumble free of his lips. “I could eat you alive,” Clint murmurs. He looks at Tony. “You’ve never marked me like this.”

“I wasn’t sure of your limits,” Tony says candidly.

“You have great hands,” Bruce says feeling a little dazed. “Calluses.”

Clint grins at him. “Thanks.”

“You… Tony hits you? I thought…?”

“I’m a switch,” Clint says easily. “I mostly bottom, but I could make a meal out of you. Your face right now, Bruce.”

“You should have seen it right after,” Steve says, low. “Actually.”

Steve’s hand vanishes from the small of his back -- Bruce misses it -- and then Steve is back with his sketchpad in his hand. He gives it to Clint, whose brows arch in surprise even as his eyes darken with desire.

“God,” he says thickly, and hands the sketchpad back to Steve. “Don’t show me that. I’ll attack him and Stark will kill me.” He’s joking, but Bruce can tell he’s not _quite_ joking. Clint backs away, like he doesn’t want to stop looking, and then turns and goes back to the couch, though he doesn’t sit down again. Bruce sees that he’s hard, and flushes at the idea that he’s responsible, but the swell of heat in his belly is becoming a twist, and he feels himself actually going down a little further.

The warmth in his chest is something else, related, but something different.

“Thor,” Tony says, and Thor doesn’t say anything at all. He just runs his huge hands along the welts across Bruce’s biceps and underarms, drawing Bruce’s arms down and his wrists a little close to do it, his hands big enough around Bruce’s wrists to make Bruce think of what it might be like to have Thor hold him down, which is enough to make him dizzy. “Extremely pleasing,” he says, including both Tony and Bruce in the sentiment. Then, looking at Bruce, he asks, “Did you shout for his lash on such tender flesh?”

“Yes,” Bruce whispers a little tautly, because of the way Thor looks and because of the way that the question had been phrased, and just because Thor’s expression is serious, his eyes very focused, and it’s different, like Clint is usually different.

“I would have liked to have heard,” Thor says. “I will want to, if ever you feel that you can share that with me.”

“I’ll remember,” Bruce says, and his cock is jerking a little now, he can feel their attention so _intent_ , and he remembers what Tony had said, about letting himself see himself through other peoples’ eyes, and he can hardly believe what he’s seeing.

Thor goes back to sit, and Tony murmurs, “Thor makes an excellent audience, Bruce,” and Bruce shivers, and believes Tony completely. “Come on, Coulson. I know you’re about five minutes away from dragging Steve to bed. Come take a look.”

Coulson comes, but says, “Let me see the sketch, first,” and Steve passes it to him. Coulson’s expression, like Clint’s, like Thor’s, is so completely different than what is normal for him that Bruce feels a little stunned. How much has he been missing, keeping himself so separate? How much had _they_ felt like they had to conceal from him?

It had never occurred to Bruce, and he’s a little ashamed.

Coulson’s face is tight with want, his eyes hot on the paper, and when he turns to Bruce he actually steps in a little closer than any of the others had, gets into his space a little. Steve’s hand returns to the small of his back, and Tony curls a hand around Bruce’s neck, but neither of them object.

Bruce stands still under Coulson’s regard, but his heart is racing and his cock is abruptly more than just hard, it’s like steel, heavy between his thighs, his balls tight. “Did you do exactly what he said?” Coulson asks.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce says, the honorific falling right out of his mouth without an instant of thought. 

“Everything, every time? Did you struggle?”

“Everything, every time,” Bruce says. “Sometimes I can’t stop from struggling, sir.”

“He never struggles against the restraints,” Tony clarifies. “He struggles against the belt, but at least half the time he’s struggling for more.”

“Did Steve touch you?” Coulson demands.

“He helped, he…” Bruce says. “When Tony worked on my left side, he held down my right knee.” He stops himself from adding sir only with a great deal of effort.

“Was that good for you? Him holding you like that?” Coulson asks.

Bruce flushes hotly, but answers, “Yes. I didn’t know it would be.”

“How deep is your subspace right now?” Coulson asks.

Bruce looks at Tony a little helplessly. “Just use the scale, I’ll translate.”

“Point nine,” Bruce says.

“Very deep,” Tony says, sounding a little surprised. “Deep enough that I won’t let him make his own decisions about anything that might upset him when he’s himself again.”

“Can I touch you, Bruce? Wherever I want to?” Coulson asks.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce says, and Coulson looks at Tony.

Tony looks at Bruce thoughtfully, and then nods.

Coulson wraps his hand around Bruce’s cock. Bruce cries out and arches into Coulson’s hand.

“He hit you here?” Coulson asks or demands, it’s hard to tell.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce gasps, working desperately to stand very still.

“More than once,” Coulson says, not really a question, but Bruce answers anyway.

“Th-three times.” Bruce is afraid he’s going to come in Coulson’s hand, and feels perilously close to tears.

“And what did you do?” Coulson asks.

“I screamed,” Bruce says. “And the last time, I came.”

Coulson tightens his fist around Bruce’s cock and Bruce lets out a low groan.

“Sore?” Coulson asks.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce whispers.

Coulson leans in a little more, close enough that probably only Steve and Tony can hear him. “Close?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce whispers.

Coulson lets him go and backs away. He takes the sketchpad from Steve’s hand and passes it to Natasha, who sucks in a breath.

“I told you,” Clint says.

Coulson leans in and kisses Bruce’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, Bruce,” he says, and Bruce feels his breath hitch a little, but somehow doesn’t cry. He’s shaking though, his whole body.

“It’s okay,” Tony is telling him, his hand gentle on Bruce’s neck. “It’s okay, Bruce. Everyone reacts to Coulson like that. Other dominants react to Coulson like that. He’s like the uber-top. That’s why I saved him until last.”

Thor says, “Both the skill of the artist and the beauty of the subject matter are to be admired immensely,” apparently having had the sketchbook passed to him. “I would give much to see this off the parchment.”

Bruce feels a little like he’d bend over for any of them if they asked him right now, and feels himself leaning back against Tony’s hand, and against Steve’s.

“I’m taking Bruce back to bed,” Tony says.

Coulson says, “Steve,” and that’s all, but Steve is abruptly right next to him, and then following him out of the room. Bruce wonders a little dazedly how Steve manages to handle someone like Coulson, and then realizes that if Coulson is that good at this, _he_ knows how to handle Steve, so it would never be an issue.

Thor glances at Natasha, and then at Clint. “I have no wish to spend the night alone,” he says.

“Agreed,” Natasha says, and looks at Clint.

“Are you kidding,” Clint says. “Just tell me where you want me.”

Thor laughs, a little more like usual, softly booming. “Come, I will put you where I desire you to be.”

The three of them leave in a huddle.

Tony turns to look at Bruce. “Okay?” he asks.

Bruce nods, still feeling dazed. 

“Nearly come in Coulson’s hand?” Tony asks.

Bruce’s cheeks blaze with heat, but he nods.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s topped every top here. Clint lives in perpetual hope and dread. Steve comes back from his rooms like a limp dishrag. You didn’t stand a chance, especially when you were already sitting so far down.”

Tony leads him carefully back up the three stairs and toward his bedroom. “I didn’t expect you to invite them to touch you,” he says.

“Did you not want me to, Tony?” Bruce asks uncertainly. “I asked, and you said…”

“No, it just surprised me,” Tony says. “I thought it would be awhile, but it didn’t occur to me that putting you in a room with them while you were still wallowing in subspace would make you more likely to let it happen. If anything, I thought you might be a little more skittish. I hope you aren’t pissed at me tomorrow.”

“I won’t be,” Bruce says. “It was good, Tony. They were good. And they won’t… just because of this time, they won’t think…”

“They won’t _presume_ ,” Tony agrees. “You’ve been so standoffish that even if you wanted to be presumed upon, it’ll probably take them a little while to be sure of it. Except Coulson. If I so much as hinted that it would be okay with me, he’d have you tied to his bed before I could finish my sentence.” But Tony sounds amused. “Honestly, it has to be hard for him. He’s stronger than I am as a dominant, and just as much a sadist. Having Steve available, with all that strength and stamina and super soldier healing powers, with no real pain kinks at all, is a little frustrating for me, and I’m pretty laid back as far as bed partners go. I’m good with whatever works for whomever I’m with. I imagine it drives Coulson a little crazy, especially considering the way he felt about Steve before he really met Steve, found out who he was as a real person, and then found out he was a person he could actually have.”

Bruce drops at the knee line automatically, and Tony leads him into the bathroom. “Shower or bath?” he asks.

They both are going to be deeply painful in different ways, and Bruce is far enough down not to really care. His cock is still a dense length of want.

“Can I come, Tony?” he asks, not sure it’s the kind of question he should ask, but not sure it isn’t either, and down far enough that if it’s not, he can’t really care about the consequences.

Tony turns to look at him. “Maybe you’re not ready for them to always be in your space. Maybe you aren’t even ready for them to touch you if you’re at five. But right now, that really worked for you, didn’t it, Bruce? All those hands on your hurt places, all their eyes wanting on you. We aren’t really talking ‘exhibitionism is okay.’ What you really should have said was that you like to be watched, you want to be looked at with want.”

“I didn’t know,” Bruce says thickly. “Tony, it wasn’t like that, before. It happened and it was okay, but it’s not the same with them.”

Tony runs a semi-gentle hand down Bruce’s chest, which means it’s enough to sting like hell, but not actually hurt, and says, “Nothing is the same with them,” gently. “I didn’t know that, either, when it started, so I understand. But tell me _now_ how it is, when you’re under this far. If I wanted to fuck you in front of Coulson, because I am just enough of a bastard to want to show off and I know he wants you, would you let me?”

Bruce nods silently.

“What about the rest of them?” Tony asks.

Bruce just nods again.

“You may feel differently when you’re more like yourself, but you won’t forget, Bruce, the way it feels to feel that way about them.” Tony’s expression is serious, but he says, “We’ll talk about it more when you hit at least three. And, no, I’m not letting you come from their hands and their eyes on you. Not yet, anyway. Not until you’re sure you want that when you aren’t so far down. So, bath or shower?”

“Either is fine with me, Tony,” Bruce says honestly. “They’re both going to hurt.”

Tony grins. “Let’s go with a bath. I’ll put some oil in the water, and we’ll keep it lukewarm.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Bruce says, as Bruce starts the water in the enormous jacuzzi.


End file.
